


Wish You Were Here

by angelgang1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, 70s, Cross-Posted on Quotev, F/M, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff, Marauders, Marauders era, Who is A, and it's done, and james likes the mc, but i have an uploading schedule for maximum angst, from 1976 to 1981, hufflepuff mc/period-accurate james potter, it's a long fic, it's so 70s, lily evans is gay so there's that, no seriously, the war is big in the later parts, this fic gets pretty serious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-07-02 11:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 73
Words: 333,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15795258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgang1/pseuds/angelgang1
Summary: Sage Charles is a 6th year Hufflepuff who has absolutely no idea that James Potter has had a massive crush on her since they were 11. She thinks of herself as pretty stable, even with the war steadily approaching and getting worse now that she's not a kid anymore (well, compared to a lot of the people in her school). She tries to be the kindest person she can be, but when she gets into the first fight of her life, she might be led to a certain mischief-maker.





	1. One

             _CRACK!_ An ugly, brutal sound came off Sage’s fist as it connected with the face of the girl in front of her. The curses streaming out of the other girl’s mouth came to a sudden stop but soon continued, louder and meaner, as she held her nose.

             Onlookers cheered and egged the girls on as the fight turned physical. For a moment after Sage punched the girl, the crowd quieted, surprised. Once they absorbed the events in front of them and overcame their shock, they released their silence in preference to an uproar. They were amazed at the girl, a Hufflepuff, who shattered stereotypes (specifically the one claiming all Hufflepuffs were passive and pathetic) by punching one of the school’s toughest Slytherins.

             The onlookers were from all the houses; Slytherin and Hufflepuff fans, along with Ravenclaw and Gryffindor players checking out the competition. There weren’t a lot of people, but enough to be called a crowd. Almost every person in the stands ran down onto the field when the spat had begun, sure they were to be entertained.

             The argument began with both the girls leading their respective Quidditch teams, as they were both captains, onto the field to practice. There, they ran into each other and started the dispute over who _really_ had the field for the day ( _obviously_ it was Sage - she got permission from her Head of House a _month_ ago, and fuck anyone who wanted to claim otherwise!). It was after the Slytherin girl, Lucinda Talkalot, insulted Sage (as she did often) and Sage’s house when their disagreement took a turn for the worse.

             Lucinda, still holding her nose (which was bleeding quite badly), drew her wand from her Quidditch robes. She pointed it at Sage, prompting the Hufflepuff to reach into her own robes and grab her wand. With wands pointed at each other, Sage ignored the part of her saying logical things like ‘ _if you fight, nothing good will come out of it_ ’ in favour of other ideas, such as ‘ _Lucinda’s a bitch and I don’t like her._ ’ It wasn’t as if she’d woken up that day in a mean mood, and she didn’t go through her morning searching for trouble. All she wanted to do was train her team harder, so they could win the cup this year. In fact, she was in a _good_ mood until this happened (her good mood had soured the second she saw Lucinda, actually).

             The team behind Lucinda started to root their captain on whilst some of the Hufflepuffs tried to defuse the tension. Typical.

             “Come on, Sage. We shouldn’t fight.” Amos Diggory, the Hufflepuff seeker, put his hand on his captain’s shoulder. Amos and Sage were friends, so he knew how “ _passionate_ ” she got about some things. Usually, Sage was good at keeping a level head, but certain people (Lucinda Talkalot) and topics (what Lucinda Talkalot was saying) could get her pretty fucking mad.

             “Did you not hear what she was saying? About us? I’m tired of these arseholes acting like it’s okay to treat us like trash because we’re nice!” Sage tightened her short ponytail which held her brown hair away from her face. The slight Scottish accent she possessed became heavier, a sure sign she was getting more and more angry (usually, she tried to tone it down to blend in, but at the time she couldn’t give a shit about what people thought of her). There was a sharp and aching pain in her right hand, the hand which had just slammed into a girl’s face, making her - somehow - even angrier ( _how dare she sully her hand with her gross face?! Did she know how much Sage worked on keeping her hands moisturized and_ not _achy? Ugh!_ ).

             “You should listen to Diggory, Charles. You won’t win this one. Go back to chasing butterflies!” Lucinda sneered, chuckling meanly while the group behind her laughed.

             “ _You better shut your fucking mouth, Talkalot_!” Sage rose her wand and muttered a hex under her breath, praying her spell would work. Suddenly, every word out of Lucinda Talkalot’s mouth was just gibberish shouted at Sage who was internally beaming with happiness over her successful charm. Lucinda babbled as her face turned red in frustration as she tried to insult the other girl.

             “SAGE CHARLES!” A loud voice erupted behind Sage in a tone both stern and familiar. Everything came to a screeching halt as people knew immediately what was happening - a teacher had come to break the fight up (they’d been brought by the students - one Hufflepuff and the other Slytherin, as neither would trust the other on their own - who went to look for a teacher to resolve the scheduling accident). Sage’s shoulders tensed and she froze the second she heard the voice. This didn’t look good for her, not at all. She stood unharmed while Lucinda had not only a broken nose but a Babbling Charm to match. The crowd stood, silent and paying close attention, as Minerva McGonagall approached the two girls with fury in her eyes that darted from Lucinda, red and bleeding, to Sage, who hadn’t put her wand away and still had the thing pointed at Lucinda. This _really_ didn’t look good.

             “Come with me this instant!” The Transfiguration teacher grabbed Sage by the arm, causing the Slytherins to laugh. For a second, it seemed as if McGonagall was only going to punish Sage, but before she headed out, with her hand gripping Sage's arm tight, she spoke. “You too, Miss Talkalot!”

             Another string of gibberish streamed from Lucinda’s mouth. Sage rolled her eyes as McGonagall pulled her away with Lucinda trailing behind with a sour face. As she was pulled along, Sage’s eyes scanned over the crowd. People were looking at her, causing a bubbling nervousness to appear in her stomach.

             Though she hadn’t been looking at anyone in particular, the second her green eyes met a pair of hazel, she stared. From behind glasses, the hazel eyes were fixed on her in a manner all-too-captivating. It was a sort of cheesy movie moment - the world slowed, and they were simply two people looking at each other (though, this was far less romantic. If anything, it was just _weird_ ). The hazel eyes had a kind of playful curiosity housed in them, something Sage found strangely endearing.

             The owner of these hazel eyes was not someone Sage knew personally, at least not very well. James Potter was a Gryffindor boy in her year who she shared a few classes with but didn’t speak to. He was popular and charming and had an open and loud personality that made it so even though she didn’t talk to him often, she had a good idea of what he was like. It was hard to not know of him, and even harder to not know about him when he was so _expressive_ in all their shared classes. (She’d seen him, many times, talk about his high grades in a voice much louder than necessary when she saw him, and he’d always answer questions in such a dramatic fashion. He’d raise his hand in a flourished wave and sit forward with a ‘ _watch me_ ’ sort of attitude. There hadn’t been once when he’d gotten the question wrong, and he knew it. He answered confidently, and when he was told he was correct, he would sit back in his chair and adopt body language which seemed to say ‘ _beat that_ ,’ as if it were an open letter).

             He was also one of the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s Chasers and was far too good at it (a fact he was all-too-well aware of). A year ago, he’d been an arse and a bully, but seemed to have somewhat grown up over the summer and beginning of 6th year (at least, Sage hadn’t seen him bully anyone in a while). And he spent most of his time with three other boys, his closest friends, in a group of four who called themselves “The Marauders.” The Marauders were infamous at Hogwarts for getting into and causing trouble - hence the name they’d given themselves.

             But the thing Sage noticed the most about James (as it was hard to ignore) was how attractive he was. His aforementioned hazel eyes were gorgeous, surrounded by the frames of his glasses that took up a large portion of his face. He’d smirk and people would fawn over him, understandably - he was blessed with a nice face which got even more attractive when he showed his mischievous self (which he did often). He was unfairly fit, as well, with the muscles given to him by Quidditch, and he had smooth, light brown skin (a mix between his father’s white and mother’s darker brown - his father was English and his mother Indian, though her family had moved to England a few generations back). Along with being blessed with good genes, he had found ways to seem even more good-looking, such as the way he messed with his jet-black hair, running his fingers through it so it became a handsome chaos.

             When Sage’s green eyes met his hazel, he was smirking. Sirius Black, one of the Marauders and his close friend, was speaking into his ear, and based on the boys’ body language, he was probably saying something funny. A couple seconds after they made eye contact, James winked. This was confusing to Sage and made her frown deepen and brow furrow as she was dragged off, looking away from James to see where she was walking (she was already in a bad mood - tripping would really do her in).

             Back in the crowd, James looked at Sirius, ignoring the teasing words which had been whispered in his ear.

             “Padfoot, I just fucking winked at her.” James spoke in a manner which testified to his shock while his expression slowly changed as he realized how weird it was to wink without prompt, and became distressed and in awe of himself.

             “What? You... why?” Sirius furrowed his eyebrows, suppressing a smile. This was much too funny to him.  

             “I don’t know!” James was beginning to panic, turning his head to Sirius. “She made _eye contact_ with me and I just… _winked_.”

             “Did you mean to wink at her?” Remus Lupin, another Marauder, chimed in from behind the two, a small smirk on his face. He, too, was finding this much too funny. Particularly, he enjoyed watching James realize his actions and blow them way out of proportion (any moment now, he was sure to start thinking things like “ _what if she thought I was coming onto her and tells McGonagall and I get arrested?!_ ” and drive himself up a wall).

             “I think I wanted to blink, but my eyes just… didn’t do that.” James let out a sigh, running a hand through his infamously untameable black hair. Beside him, Sirius stood stone faced, trying not to laugh as he stared at James. His attempts were forgotten, though, when he glanced at Remus. Sirius’ eyes met Remus’ and the two broke down in laughter. Peter Pettigrew, the fourth Marauder, joined in, patting James on the arm comfortingly (and, in all honesty, patronizingly). James huffed.

             “It’s not that funny.” James crossed his arms like a defiant toddler, face becoming hot. He really hated his friends sometimes.  

             “Prongs, that’s almost the funniest thing that’s happened this year.” Remus smiled, “I mean, except for when Sirius tried to steal that fi--”

             “ _I thought we agreed not to talk about that in public_.” Sirius hissed lowly at the taller boy while hitting him in the chest with the back of his hand. The boys all shared a look before erupting into a fit of laughter.

    

             After Talkalot’s nose was healed and the babbling charm lifted, Sage sat in McGonagall's office, facing a lion as nothing but a lamb. The professor knew how to be intimidating; she stared down Sage with her hands folded atop her desk and eyes burning with judgment and power. A few days ago, Sage was in this office asking McGonagall about the curriculum for the next semester, when she’d been offered a biscuit and greeted warmly. Sage sat in the chair for guests, but she did not feel welcome, devoid of a warm greeting and hand biscuitless.

             “Miss Charles.” Sage knew not to respond. “I expected more from you.”

             “But Professor, Talkalot was--” Sage’s mind racing through what happened so she could try to justify her actions. Now that she was calm and thinking logically, this was proving hard to do. She sat forward on McGonagall’s chair before she was cut off, making her lean back sheepishly.

             “I know full well what she was doing,” McGonagall spoke sternly. Sage’s shoulders hunched forward, her hands coming together on her lap. “But you had the chance to take the high road. To set an example." She paused. "You're a clever girl, and although your grade in my class has never been remarkable, I know you try. As I’ve been told by Professor Sprout, you're quite skilled at Herbology as well as Potions. I know you're very resourceful. You could have handled the situation calmly.

             “Even if Miss Talkalot did or said something to aggravate you, that does not excuse your actions. I do have to punish you.” Sage almost groaned. Almost. “Detention this Wednesday. You will be helping clean Professor Slughorn’s cabinets. I will also be deducting 50 points from Hufflepuff.”

             A sigh fell from Sage’s lips. That wasn’t _too_ bad. She was expecting to get something worse, if she was honest - the situation didn’t look good and McGonagall looked way angrier than ‘a detention’ level upset. Still, she wasn’t complaining. The consequences were coming to her in other ways - her hand ached, hurt from the punch. She rubbed a finger over her knuckles and knew they were bound to bruise. This small amount of pressure made it feel better for a second but then worse. She stopped and put her hands back in her lap.  

             “Now I suggest you go see your friends. I’m sure they’re worried about whether I’ve expelled you or not.” McGonagall stood, cuing Sage to shoot up. As the Transfiguration teacher opened the door, Sage bowed her head in respect, thanked her, and exited. She walked slowly, looking around the hallway at the various paintings. The door closed behind her and her head turned to confirm the hallway was empty. The second she knew for sure she was alone, she shot down the hall, leaving her slow pace in the dust behind her.  

             After stopping by her dormitory to change into regular clothes, Sage made her way to the Great Hall, as it was lunchtime and she was getting quite peckish. The second she stepped foot into the Hall, she received pats on the back and multiple high-fives. A numerous amount of them were from Gryffindors, who, with their deep-seeded hatred of Talkalot (she was known around school as quite the bully, targeting hopeless first and second years), loved her getting punched (or, as one particularly enthusiastic 5th-year put it, “fucking _decked_ ”).

             Walking to her spot at the Hufflepuff table, Sage sat onto the wooden bench, finally alone. A heavy breath left her lips as she guided herself out of the remaining bit of her anger. She shook her head as if she were shaking away angry thoughts, including one that questioned what happened with her team and the field debacle, cracked her left hand’s knuckles - she didn’t even want to attempt her right’s - and grabbed some food, putting it on her plate. But before she could start to eat, two of her friends slid on either side of her. Amos Diggory sat on her right and Wendy Greene on her left.

            Amos was a charming, generous boy. He had brown hair and brown eyes, his skin lightly tanned, he was quite good looking. Kind and considerate, he was known to many as a friend. Sage enjoyed his company greatly, but she often found him turning annoying (he was a bit of a shadow and mirrored people, often times forgetting to show his own personality). She wasn’t _great_ friends with him, but he was in her year and house, and for how annoying he could get, he was still nice.

             Wendy, on the other hand, was Sage’s best friend (a ‘platonic soulmate’ as they put it) and had been so since their first year. Wendy was a shy, cautious girl when she first came to Hogwarts, as she was new to the world of magic and had not found herself yet. It was when Wendy came out as a girl (she discovered she was trans midway through their first year) and moved into the girl’s dorm where she belonged when she and Sage latched onto each other. It took a while, but Wendy came out of her shell, and became who she was then - a stylish, kind, hard-working friend.

             Wendy was beautiful, too. Soft and smooth dark brown skin, long eyelashes, and deep brown eyes with slivers of black, topped with kinky black hair ending at her broad shoulders. She was thin, and had plump, soft lips (thanks to the chapstick she carried around with her everywhere). Wendy was a work of art.

             “Okay, not that I’m not happy about you breaking Talkalot’s nose, but oh my _God_ , you idiot!” Wendy began the instant she sat down. “You _do_ realize that now you’re an enemy of a pretty big group of Slytherins?”

            “Wendy, I...” Sage sighed. She didn’t quite know what to say. All she could think of was, “can I just eat?”

            Wendy frowned in a manner showing her displeasure while still seeming light-hearted and made a deep noise not unlike a “hm.” On Sage’s other side, Amos clicked his tongue and reached for Sage’s hand.

            “Your hand,” he said, picking it up and inspecting it closer. Sage let out a groan as she looked to Amos and resisted the urge to pull her hand back.

            “Yeah, this is what happens when you punch people. I got a detention to go with it, too.” Voice full of nihilistic-sounding sarcasm, Sage continued. “Groovy, right? Can I eat now, please?”

            “Does it hurt too badly?” asked Amos as he let her hand go. Sage shrugged and reached for her sandwich.

            “Eh. ‘s not too bad.” She took a bite, then, mouth full, added, “worth it.”

            “Was it, though?” Wendy rest her elbow on the table and held up her chin with her hand. “I mean, it’s not like this is the end of whatever that was. Lucinda is gunna be, like, totally an absolute bitch. You’ll probably get into another fight with her, and that’ll be bad because I don’t think you’ll get away with just a detention next time, and you won’t be as lucky as you were this time.”

             “She’s right,” said a hoarse voice coming from behind Sage. She put down her sandwich and turned her torso around to see who it was - Talkalot, who seemingly came out of nowhere with annoyingly perfect dramatic timing. “I’d watch your back if I were you, Charles.”

             “Talkalot,” Sage took in a deep breath. “I’m not scared of you.” She shrugged, telling Lucinda with her body language she didn’t care. She was lying. Sage was terrified of Lucinda - she knew the rumours; Talkalot and some of her friends were in the process of joining You-Know-Who’s army. She didn't like to believe gossip, but with what she knew about them, she could imagine them at least agreeing with the man. Even if she didn't think they were all becoming Death Eaters, they were still a dangerous group of people she'd like to avoid.

             “You should be.” Talkalot sneered, “you got lucky. Next time, you won’t be.” She turned with a swish of her robes like they were a cape, walking smoothly over to the Slytherin table, sitting with her friends. All of them were glaring at Sage.

             Ignoring their glares, Sage turned back around, facing the food she suddenly didn’t care about, and looked at Amos. He was trying to look stern, but he just looked concerned.

             “Do you happen to know how I can _not_ die?” Sage attempted to sound calm while picking up her fork and stabbing a green bean like nothing was wrong.

             “You could get a bodyguard,” Amos grinned, putting his arm around her shoulder, making both the girls share a look and laugh.

             “Amos Diggory, you cannot hurt a fly.” Sage moved his arm, taking it off her. “Maybe I could employ a Gryffindor. They love me now, apparently,” she joked, smiling as she ate.

             “Ooh.” Wendy chimed in, mouth full of water. She swallowed, then smiled. “Maybe you could ask the Marauders.” At her own words, Wendy laughed, a pretty chime, as Sage cringed. Wendy ignored this, biting into a brownie.

             “Oh, speaking of them, James Potter _winked_ at me earlier - when McGonagall was pulling me off.” Sage took a bite of her green beans, recalling the strange event. She had many questions, but she was telling herself one answer to most of them: ‘ _he’s popular and a Gryffindor. That’s just what he’s like_.’

             “He-- are you serious?” Wendy asked, leaning forward. “He winked at you? Weird.”

             “Yeah, I forgot about it until just now.” Sage turned to Amos. “What do you think? Should I ask him about it? It was weird enough to justify me asking.”

             “No.” Amos spoke immediately, harsh and serious, even though Sage had clearly been joking. “I think you should stay away from them - him _and_ his friends.” He ignored Sage’s eyes rolling. Of course he would want to stay away. He hated conflict, and usually whenever something wild happened in their year, the Marauders were behind it - they were a living, breathing, productive factory of conflict. And based on how he said this, Sage had a feeling it was something he had wanted to say for a while but only just now saw the chance to do so.

            “But, because I know you won’t listen to me, I’ll volunteer to protect you.” Sage snorted, glad she hadn’t just sipped some water.

            “I’m serious! I can be tough!” Coming to his own defence, Amos puffed out his chest, causing the girls to burst out laughing. A few people looked their way, but the three of them didn’t notice.

             “Oh, yes, Amos.” Sage grinned, “you’re so tough!” She rubbed his arm soothingly, feeling the muscles he owed to Quidditch. As she took her hand away, she looked at her plate. “I’m done. Let’s go.”

             The three of them stood up and stepped away from the table. Wendy shoved the rest of her brownie into her mouth and they began to walk together, heading outside.

             “I can be! I could be the best bodyguard!” insisted Amos as they walked. Sage laughed again.

             “Amos, really, we love you, but you can’t fight anyone,” Wendy said, patting his back as he sulked along with them.

             “There’s a reason you’re a Seeker and not a Beater, mate.” With a snap of her fingers, Sage remembered to ask, “oh, speaking of which, what happened with practice?”

             “After both you and Lucinda left, we didn’t know what to do - neither teams, actually, and we ended up just flying around a little bit on opposite sides of the field before we gave up and just came back.”

             “Ugh,” said Sage, frowning. “Fantastic. Whatever, we can just work harder next time, I guess.”

             The three of them headed outside, going to the Black Lake as Sage went silent and began to formulate a plan for how to work her team harder next practice. It would be hard, as she was already planning on pushing them loads, but she really did need to make up for the lack of that day’s practice.

             Once they got to the lake, Sage took off her shoes and slowly dipped her feet into the cool water. She sat, feet still wet, with Wendy beside her. Amos sat on a large rock close to them with shoes on his feet. There were a few groups around them, including a handful of Ravenclaws a little way off who were very invested in their conversation. Sage recognized some of her friends among them and guessed the conversation was about comics (it was).

             To her left, though, under one of the trees, were the Marauders. James Potter leaned against the tree, Remus Lupin sat next to him, reading, Sirius Black laid on the grass, looking up at the clouds, and Peter Pettigrew sat next to him trying to catch a grasshopper.     

             James, though, was staring at Sage. For a second, she thought he was looking at something behind her or just staring off into space, but when she made eye contact with him, he started to walk towards her. Her brow furrowed, and all thought of practice left her as she grew confused. Amos and Wendy stopped their conversation as they noticed James approach, quite obviously headed straight to Sage.

             Still surprised, she stood and took a few steps to meet him. They both stopped an arm's width away. He looked confident and laid back and she looked confused.

             “I wanted to tell you how much the Gryffindors liked what you did to Talkalot,” James said, pulling a snitch out of his pocket and playing with it. Sage found this strange; James was a Chaser, like her. Where did he even get it from? Why was he playing with it all nonchalant?  

             “It was my pleasure.” She looked him straight in the eye as she spoke in an attempt to not seem all too intimidated. He was very cool and she didn’t really know how to talk to him.

             “ASK HIM!” After a second of silence (incredibly awkward on Sage’s part), Wendy shouted from her spot next to the lake. Sage’s face flushed, heat rising, as she wished hopelessly _somehow_ , James wouldn’t have heard her.

             “Shut _up_ , Wendy!” Sage looked away from James, back at a now-standing Wendy. She spoke in a hiss, eyes warning Wendy to not speak further even though she was a tad too embarrassed to focus on being intimidating.

             “What did she want you to ask me?” asked James. He was totally justified in doing so, but Sage wished he hadn’t (also, being dead seemed like a nice alternative to being there, then) as she turned back to him. He stopped playing with the snitch and just held it while he looked at her with a raised brow.

            “Oh. Um.” Sage hoped she wasn’t blushing as much as she thought she was. “You know,” her voice was considerably higher, “it’s not really important. Just a joke. You know. Whatever.” Sage let out an awkward chuckle, shifting her gaze to the ground.

            “Well, now I’m concerned. You weren’t making fun of me, were you?” James was teasing her in that manner only popular-charming guys can and she both hated it and thought it a nice show of his confidence.

            “No, no, it was nothing bad. Just… you’re pretty popular around here.” Attempts to justify and explain herself only led to Sage cringing more and her face getting hotter. She wasn’t making this easier on herself. “I just mean you’re, like, the Gryffindor Golden Boy, you know, and er, yeah.” Sage was totally going to scream into her pillow later and possibly stuff her mouth full of pillow fluff so she couldn’t talk again. This social interaction was turning into the most painful of the day, and that’s including the one where someone was _literally_ injured.

            “Okay…” James trailed off, seemingly deep in thought, staring at something in the distance before snapping his gaze back to Sage. “But anyways,” he grinned, “you’re pretty great, Sage.”

            Sage felt like her face was on fire. Okay, so it wasn’t like she had some super mega crush on James, but she did have to admit - he was pretty fucking attractive. He had an aura of coolness around him. People couldn’t help looking up to him. Sage could remember how him and his friends had been pretty big dicks in the past, but now it seemed like they had moved on and were now good people. He was intimidating, but not in a dangerous way, more a in a way that made her want to impress him.

            “Er-- thank you, James.” She smiled, not looking at him until she added, “you’re not bad yourself.” James gave her a grin so bright it might rival the sun.

            Sage felt a hand on her shoulder, Wendy’s, showing Sage the girl had come to join them. There was a smile on her face Sage knew meant trouble. Attempting to stop her, Sage gave Wendy a warning look that was brushed off.

            “Actually, James--”

            “Wendy, I swear to Merlin, shut the fuck up.” Sage looked at her friend, trying to use her hands to stop Wendy from talking somehow, but Wendy just slapped them away.

            “We were talking about how since Sage is now under attack from the Slytherins, she should probably find some other way to protect herself, as she probably can’t fight like 4 people at once. So we were thinking about getting her a bodyguard. And, wildly, we thought you might be a good fit.”

            Sage had given up and was now just standing with her arms folded, hoping James didn’t think this was all weird. She knew she shouldn’t, but she really did care what James thought of her, and this wasn’t something she wanted him to associate with her. All attempts to look away from him, an embarrassed reaction, were defied as she glanced at him.

            James Potter was grinning at the two of them, a confident look on his face that made sure nobody even considered he was feeling anything but wildly self-assured. “I mean, I would be okay with that.” He said, making Sage almost have a heart attack.

            Wendy was obviously having a reaction different to Sage’s panic. Letting out a giggle, she smiled ear to ear, as if all her childhood wishes had come true. Meanwhile, the only thought in Sage’s head was something not unlike _AHHHHH_.

            “You know what would be _awesome_?” Wendy beamed. Sage’s head snapped to her so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash.

            “ _Shut the fuck up, Wendy_.” Sage just _knew_ this was going to get worse and would very much enjoyed death instead of living through the awkwardness sure to come. Moved on from one-thought shock, her brain was saying thirty different things, including _he said fucking yes????_ and _AHHHHH????!!!!_

            “What if, and hear me out here, you did one of my favourite tropes and pretended you were dating? How wild would that be,” Wendy trailed off and a snort escaped her, as she found this absolutely hilarious. She was absolutely delighted and incredibly outgoing suddenly, unfortunately for Sage.

            Now Sage was pretty sure she was actually yelling, ready to murder Wendy and then herself. Glancing between Wendy and James comically, she stopped on her friend. Perhaps Wendy was pranking her. Hopefully, James was in on it.

            “Are you high?” in her total bewilderment, this was all Sage managed to say.

            “Probably, honestly.” Wendy shrugged. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she said, voice breathy and shocked, “the brownie.” With this, she ran back over to Amos and began to talk to him energetically.

            Sage looked at James, obviously embarrassed. “I… I am so sorry about her. She’s not normally like… _that._ Even _when_ she’s high.” Sage sighed.

            _Is this how I die?_ She thought, _of extreme embarrassment, age 16? Rest in peace, Sage. Cause of death - having stoner friends._

            “It’s fine,” James began, “I’ve had enough experience with high friends to last me… either too long or not long enough.” He chuckled, more awkward than usual but still in his own way - the manner which eased tension and brewed good vibes.     

            It took about two seconds of them making eye contact for them to both burst out in mutual fits of laughter, the tension working itself out.

            “Although,” James leaned back and started to play with the snitch again, “I wouldn’t be opposed to all that.”

            Sage looked at him suspiciously, shocked. What was she supposed to say to _that_? She attempted to sound chill by saying, “it’s a possibility.”

            James laughed, “we should hang sometime, Sage.” He then gave her a smile and told her, “see you around,” before he turned around, hands (and snitch) moving into his pockets. Making his way back to his friends, he walked off, leaving Sage to blush and sit back down with her own friends. Wendy was watching Sage intently and Amos was looking as if the only thing he wanted out of life was death.

 


	2. Two

            On Monday, Sage was dreading going to Charms, so much so that she tried to play sick for one class period (“cough, cough, oh, no, Wen, I’m too sick.” “Oh, really? So you’ve developed a fake-seeming sickness since we walked out of Divination?” “...yes.” “Wow, I totally didn’t see this happening, even when I was crystal-ball gazing.”) only to fail. The Hufflepuffs had the class with Gryffindors, and this was to be the first time since Saturday she would see James in a class (she had seen him occasionally, in the halls and such, and each time she’d go red and duck out of sight). She wasn’t looking forward to it.

            After Wendy had sobered up, both girls shared their Sunday screaming into their respective pillows, bonding in their shared embarrassment. Wendy would take breaks from screaming to apologize, genuinely ashamed and awed by her own behaviour. Sage forgave her, though. Wendy didn’t really hurt her, and she couldn’t stay mad at her best friend and roommate for very long.

            Sage and Wendy, trying to ignore how worried they were about seeing James, walked to Charms early. The two girls talked as they walked, their arms linked together.

            “I just don’t see it,” Sage said as they turned the corner into the hallway outside of the Charms classroom.

            “Yeah, I guess it’s something you have to really look for, I guess.” Wendy shrugged. Their Ravenclaw friend, Patrick, had been sharing a theory about one of the books all three of them had read.

            “Eh, maybe.” Sage was starting to feel more and more anxious, looking around to see if James was there yet. She didn’t even know what she would do if he was. Talk to him? Ignore him? Run away to Romania and live amongst the vampires? That last one wouldn’t work - Sage would rather keep her blood, thanks.

            James didn’t seem to be there, Sage noticed, as she entered the classroom. She and Wendy made their way to their seats, next to each other. Sage sat, trying to look casual as she looked around at the other students in the class. She looked to her right, only to make eye contact with someone with beautiful green eyes. Sage knew this was Lily Evans, a Gryffindor and one of the prettiest girls in the school. Lily smiled at Sage, and she could feel herself blush as she smiled back, looking away quickly.

            Why do all the pretty people have to notice me suddenly? Sage thought to herself as she reached down to get her Charms things out of her bag. She shoved her bag under the table just as the class began to file in more and more. Amos walked by, sending her and Wendy a nod. Nodding back, Sage tried to calm herself - it wouldn’t be that horrible if he looked at her, not even if he talked to her. Their conversation had ended somewhat nicely, so she really had nothing to worry about.

             Her worry, though, didn’t seem to care about logic, and was making her heart beat wildly as she sat on edge, waiting for him to show up.

            But, as far as she could see, James and his friends weren’t among the rest of the class. Were they skipping? Probably. Sage felt a bit jealous.

            The class started, and still no Marauders, so Sage figured her theory was correct. Assured by the thought that they weren’t coming, she relaxed, taking notes on how to turn vinegar into wine. Just as Professor Flitwick was explaining how the spell was not related to transfiguration, the door to the classroom opened, revealing Sirius Black, behind him James, Peter, and Remus.

            Professor Flitwick sighed, pointed at their seats and then continued with his lesson. The boys walked to their respective seats, whispering amongst themselves. As they sat, the whispering stopped and they settled in for the lesson. For Sirius, this meant laying his head on his arms on the table. For Remus, it meant occasionally scribbling down something important Flitwick said. Peter was doing the same, but in between taking notes, he doodled on his parchment. James, who had heard they were learning about turning something into another thing, stopped listening. He was stellar at transfiguration - the art of turning things to other things - and at charms, so he figured his time was better spent bothering Sirius. His fingers gently ripped away squares of parchment from where he should’ve been taking notes, tearing the paper agonizingly slow with his eyes glued on Flitwick as to make sure he wasn’t heard. The squares were then folded into miniature, paper animals he sat in a line directly in front of him before he gave them each a poke with his wand. An army of tiny animals moved along the desk, heading toward Sirius’ head that still lay down atop the wooden surface. They marched onto his arms and were about to reach his head when Sirius moved. His head turned, still laid on the table, just so he could give James a look.

            Sage, on the other hand, paid attention to Flitwick as he explained the spell further. She only glanced at James a few times, quickly, just to get a look at what he was doing, as she found his paper lion especially cute. Minutes later, Flitwick floated flasks of vinegar to each of them and directed the class to attempt the spell. For the first few minutes, nothing happened. The classroom was full of students repeating the incantation with no results other than annoyed groans.

             With Sage’s 10th time saying the charm, something happened, but not to her. She murmured the incantation just as a ‘BOOM’ sounded from behind her, making the whole class look over at one boy whose vinegar had done what Professor Flitwick said it might - explode.

             James Potter sat still as Flitwick walked over and examined him, explaining what he did wrong and assigning him extra practice. Luckily, James hadn’t gotten too much vinegar on him when it had exploded. Still, he’d been sprayed with the stuff. Hopefully he wouldn’t smell like it all day.

             The rest of the class turned back to their flasks, more cautious now. Sage tried an additional 5 times before she stopped momentarily to congratulate the person in front of her for casting it correctly. Before she tried it again, Sage looked over her notes, making sure she was doing it properly.

             She turned to the flask, took a nice, deep breath in, and cast the spell. To her and Wendy’s surprise, the clear substance in her flask had turned a deep crimson.

            “Professor, Sage’s done it!” Wendy smiled at her friend, waving Flitwick over to them.

            “Well done, Miss Charles!” He congratulated the girl, who was surprised she had managed the spell so quickly. Normally, it took her more practice before getting charms right.

            She wasn’t complaining, though, especially as Professor Flitwick allowed her to start her homework early. Pulling out her quill, she tried to explain to Wendy what she had done.

            “I really pictured wine in my head,” she told Wendy after another person accomplished the spell. “Like taste, texture, colour, all that.” This seemed to be the exact thing to tell Wendy, as on her next try, she succeeded. The girls high-fived, smiling as they worked together on their homework.

            A few minutes passed, and once again, something happened to James’ vinegar that wasn’t supposed to. This time, though, it had turned to ice. James groaned as Flitwick asked him if he needed help.

            “I’m usually so good at stuff like this, I don’t know what’s wrong,” he told Flitwick. “I’m really good at transfiguring stuff.”

             “Mister Potter, therein lies your problem. This spell isn’t a transfiguring one. I think your issue is not that you are bad at Charms, but the fact that you didn’t bother understanding the spell. You cannot be good at something you know nothing about.” Flitwick explained how, following up with, “even if you thought you might be good at it, you still should’ve listened to my lecture. I suggest borrowing someone’s notes.” Flitwick continued and hinted this spell might be a part of the exam.

             Class ended not long after that. People filed out of the room, many of them already prepared to leave before they were dismissed. Sage wished she was one of them, but she’d dropped her quill onto the floor under her desk while she was trying to shove it into her bag. Annoyed and hurrying, she grumbled and moved onto the floor, on her hands and knees under her desk. She grabbed the quill and scrunched up her nose at the thin layer of dirt on the stone floor.

             Before she could get out from her desk, someone talked to her suddenly, obviously not Wendy, voice deep and familiar. It was one word, something like “hey,” that startled her so much that she tried to stand, forgetting there was a desk above her.

             There was a thud, the not-so-fun sound of her hitting her skull against desk, and she fell back down onto her knees. Wincing and rubbing her head, she moved to where her chair was, out from the desk, and stood.

             “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry, Sage,” said James Potter, the owner of the voice who had caused her to bang her head on desk. With genuine regret, he moved his hand to reach out and help her, placing it on her shoulder as she steadied herself.  

             “It’s fine, s’not that bad.” Sage smiled pathetically, moving her hand from her head and putting her quill in her bag. Turning her face from its subtle cringe, she opened her eyes and smiled - really - at James. “I’m okay.” His hand was still on her shoulder, a nice, affirming gesture, as he stood, their chests a forearm away.

             “I’m gunna go see Amos,” Wendy said from where she’d been waiting for Sage, running off.

             “Are you sure you’re okay?” James looked into her eyes intensely for a moment before his gaze moved up, looking behind her at his friends who stood watching him. He gave them a look, silently telling them to bug off. Sirius gave him a double thumbs-up and headed out, followed by Remus and Peter.

             Once they got into the hallway, the three of them stood against the wall to the right of the door, waiting for James. Remus dug through his bag, Sirius leaned against the wall looking mellow, and Peter tied his shoe.

             A blushy Lily Evans came out the door and turned to the three of them. She took one look at Sirius trying to be cool and rolled her eyes. Nodding her head back, she gestured to the classroom behind her where Sage and James were talking.

             “Is James finally asking her out?” Lily asked, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

             “Nah, he’s doing that some other time. Coming up with a ‘master plan’ and shit,” Sirius said, looking particularly hip. On the other side of the doorway, Wendy eavesdropped on their conversation (it was about her best friend, so she was obligated to).

             “He better not be an idiot about it.” Lily turned to Remus and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t let him hurt her. She’s too good for that.” She put her hand down.

             “We already hear all that from him, now we have to hear it from you?” Sirius said this as if it was the worst thing ever, the biggest problem anyone had ever faced.

             “You drama queen, it’s not that bad.” Remus joked at Sirius who looked at him, annoyed.

             “Do you not hear him? Every day, ‘did you see her? She was so cute today!’” Sirius mocked his best friend, using a ridiculous voice for his James impersonation.

             Remus responded, and the two boys bickered, making Lily roll her eyes and turn around, joining her friends in heading to their next class. She passed Wendy, smiling at her and sending her a wink.

             Back in the classroom, James was making sure Sage was okay. She waved him off, “no harm done, really. Did you want something?” Certainly, he had a reason for coming over to talk to her. She was dying a little, as this was exactly what she’d feared.

             “Oh, er, yeah.” He chuckled awkwardly, scratching his head. “I was wondering if I could borrow your notes, later. From today’s lesson. Seeing how I don’t really understand, and you got the spell right, I figure you can probably help.”

             Sage stared at him, surprised. Breathless, she agreed, “yeah, totally. I can lend them to you later.”

             “Great,” James grinned, “when are you free?”

             “Well, my last class of the day today is Herbology, but I usually stay late. Um, I guess we could meet in the library? At like… 4:30? And I could try to explain it to you, if you don’t understand, if you’d like.”

            “That sounds great, Sage.” James smiled at her as the two of them walked to the door.

            “Great, I’ll see you then,” she said as they walked into the hallway where their friends waited for them. Sage turned to Wendy, grabbing her hand and heading to their next class.

             Immediately after they turned the corner, James started to tell his friends what happened energetically. The boys headed in the opposite direction, three-quarters of them annoyed and one-quarter ecstatic. Wendy inquired about what happened a few seconds later, asking Sage as they walked to spill everything.

             “He wants to borrow my notes, so we’re meeting in the library at 4:30.” Sage was, strangely, feeling a bit giddy as she told Wendy this.

             “You won’t believe what I heard when I was in the hallway,” said Wendy.

             “What?”

             “Okay, so I’m pretty sure James likes you.” The dark-skinned girl chewed on the nail of the thumb not attached to the hand holding Sage’s.

             Sage didn’t know what to say, so she settled with, “why the hell would he do that?”

             “Because you’re beautiful? And kind? And smart? Honestly, Sage, you’re a catch.” Wendy sighed, then recapped the conversation she overheard.

             “So, you’re telling me that not only does James, one, have feelings for me, and two, talk about me all the time in a loving manner, Lily Evans called me great? My bisexual heart can’t handle this, Wendy.” Sage sighed overdramatically, trying to make up for the fact that she was so overwhelmed by joking around.

             “We all knew this was going to happen eventually,” said Wendy. “You’re hot.” She waited a minute, seeing if Sage would say something. When she didn’t, Wendy asked “so what do you think? Do you like him back?”

             Sage thought for a bit before answering honestly, “I don’t know. I mean, I’m attracted to him, but like, that’s a given. I dunno, I just… don’t know him totally yet, you know?”

             Wendy nodded in understanding, their conversation ending as they reached their next class, where Sage didn’t pay much attention, her mind overtaken by thoughts of James’ apparent crush on her.

             And who could blame her? He was James. Incredibly popular, charming, and attractive, and he fancied her? Sage, the Hufflepuff he barely knew? Sage wasn’t insecure, and she knew she was somewhat pretty (it was hard for her to tell, as when she looked in the mirror, a lot of the time she wasn’t thinking beautiful or hideous, she was just thinking, ah, it’s me. That’s me, right there. My face. Is something stuck in my teeth?), but in the past, the only other person James had shown interest in was Lily Evans, who was incredibly gorgeous. And he’d never shown interest in Sage like that - when he’d been chasing after Lily, he was quite literally chasing after her (he was a Chaser, after all). He wouldn’t leave Lily alone, poor girl, until that incident in fifth year with Severus Snape and a pair of slurs (Lily was called a name based off her blood status, something everyone knew, but also something related to her sexual orientation, which hadn’t been known before Snape shouted it out. James felt so bad about the event and his actions he’d given up on her, letting her be a Lesbian in peace). But with Sage, he was totally different - he wasn’t chasing after her. He’d shown no signs of liking her (at least, none she’d noticed).

             By the time she got to Herbology, Sage was exhausted. It was only Monday, but apparently all her teachers felt obliged to give her tons of homework. And with the added stress of trying to remember she had plans with James later, she was ready to get started working with the soil. Getting her hands caked in dirt soothed Sage, though she knew some people found it strange. She was trying to enjoy her time in the greenhouses as much as possible, because soon it’d be getting cold enough for the plants to go dormant and she wouldn’t have as much to do.

             Although, that day they started working on something which didn’t allow Sage much room to relax - Venomous Tentacula. It was green, like most plants, spiky like some, and like others, it had vines. But the Venomous Tentacula vines were mobile and were known for trying to catch living prey, leading to everyone getting grabbed a couple times. Oh, and it expelled venom from its shoots. And those aforementioned spikes? They were deadly. The Venomous Tentacula lived up to its name in all ways - its bite was heavily venomous and possibly fatal.

             It was a relief that Professor Sprout didn’t mind students cursing, because almost everyone in the class swore enough to put all their house points in the negatives if it happened around someone like McGonagall.

             Eventually, Sage bid Professor Sprout goodbye, rushing to the library, hoping to see James before he entered so she wouldn’t have to go looking for him. The library was huge, which Sage both loved and hated, as it was a tremendous resource, but navigating it was incredibly difficult.

             She was set to arrive five minutes early and assumed James wouldn’t be there yet. Climbing a spiral staircase, Sage silently prayed it wouldn’t move. Her prayer came true and the floor kept its position, leading her to the hallway outside the library. To her surprise, sitting on the floor against a wall of the corridor was James.

             James Potter was a masterpiece. It was as if when he was created, the universe came together, throwing the best parts of every star from every galaxy into a little boy. They gave him crowns made of flowers and dreams of gold, surrounding and submerging him in an ocean of magic. Sage looked at him the way a child experienced the world; with eyes full of wonder and curiosity over how something could be so magnificent, so complex but so simple. So beautiful.

             His head was back against the wall, jet black hair which reminded Sage of those nights where the sky was empty and all one could do was look upward and know there was a whole universe out there they simply couldn’t see, touching the bare stone. His eyes were closed, his glasses crooked, and his chest rose and fell heavily as he took quick breaths.

             On the floor beside his outstretched leg lay his schoolbag. On his other side, his leg was bent at the knee, his hand resting over where he had crumbled up his cloak after taking it off. His tie hung loosely around his neck, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up a bit.

             Sage looked at him for a second, seemingly awe-stricken. Her eyes couldn’t seem to stop glancing over his face. His nose, the glasses which lay perched on it, that jaw - she studied him the way one might study a complex paining they saw in a museum. He was enchanting.

             But, all spells do break. Sage snapped herself out of it and forced herself to say something.

             “Did you run here?” She teased, wondering why his breath came so heavy. The grip she had on her bag’s strap tightened as she said this, a nervous action although she felt mostly at-ease.

             James’ eyes snapped open and he reacted to her presence quickly, grabbing his bag and cloak in his left hand and snapping up in front of her. The stark contrast of his height sitting versus standing changing so suddenly startled Sage, something she didn’t let on.

             “Nah,” he said coolly, “just-- er, meditating.”

             He was very, very close to telling her, ‘no, you just stole my breath away,’ but forced himself to not. Either way, he was lying - he had run there, desperate not to be late, but he couldn’t tell her that.

             “Oh?” asked Sage, brow rising. “You meditate?”

             “Just getting into it.” Clearing his throat, James gestured to the library’s entrance, motioning for her to go ahead of him. “Anyway, how was Herbology?”

             “Eh, there’s only so much you can enjoy gardening with a giant plant trying to murder you.”

             James found this very funny, and laughed quietly (so they wouldn’t get in trouble) as they found a table against one of the walls behind a couple bookshelves. There was a window above the table on the wall, one of the reasons Sage had chosen it - she liked to be reminded of nature whenever she got stressed, and homework was sure to stress her out.

            “So I was thinking I could just take notes of your notes, and then we could get out of here,” James suggested as the two of them sat down.

            “Yeah, sure. I’ll probably stay here after, though, finish all my homework.” Taking her bag off her shoulder, she put it onto her lap, digging in it for her Charms notes (that she was now wishing she’d written neater on). Pulling out the notes, they were handed to James before she went right back in to grab her Transfiguration homework and place it in front of her before she hung her bag on the back of the chair. In a quick decision, she decided to mirror James in taking off her outer robe, leaving them both in uniform, save what displayed which house they were in.

            “Ah. Well, in that case, I might as well stay, too.” James, quill in hand, smiled at her from across the table, causing her to be struck once again by how good looking he was. Something in her stomach fluttered slightly as she watched him start to scribble down her notes onto a different piece of parchment (his handwriting was nicer than she would’ve expected) and thought about how they would most likely be together for quite some time.

             She looked down at her Transfiguration book, opened it to the correct page, and began to read. As she did so, her mind began to remind her of what Wendy had told her earlier that day. Her eyes shifted back to James who was still scribbling stuff down. This boy has a crush on me? She didn’t believe it. James was too pretty. Not that Sage doubted her ability to snag someone nice, she just… wouldn’t be able to handle being with someone so attractive. How would she get to know him if every time she looked at him she felt herself trip over her tongue?

             Like then, as she was trying to read about ‘Crinus Muto’ (changing the colour of eyebrows), she couldn’t focus because James was right there and so cute when he’s concentrating. As if he wasn’t already killing her, he took his bottom lip in between his teeth in a way which made Sage remember she was a horny teenager.

            Ugh, it’s like he’s doing it on purpose, she thought, looking back down at her book. Forcing herself not to look at him, she stared intensely at the paragraph she needed to read. After a minute, her intense, laser-like stare turned into her actually reading, and she managed to get some of her work done. At some point, James finished copying her notes, so he handed them back to her and began to work on something of his own, giddy that he was still hanging out with his crush, even though they weren’t really doing anything.

             It didn’t take long before Sage came across a question in her Transfiguration homework she didn’t understand. She had never been the best at wand-magic and was about to skip the question and save it for later when she remembered, “James, you’re good at Transfiguration, right?”

             James’ head snapped up and he nodded, his eyes on Sage. He hoped she didn’t notice how he was memorizing what her face looked like this closely (he had never noticed those freckles across her nose before).

             “Can you help me? I was going to skip this, but I figured since you’re good at it, I might as well ask you.” Her face began to heat up, something it most likely wouldn’t have done if she wasn’t so close to him – they shared a table they were both hunched over, making them a head away from each other’s faces. If she tried, she could’ve kissed him without moving too much.

             “Yeah, totally,” he said, tone casual, totally freaking out. As she moved her work so he could read it, he prayed he’d know what she needed help with. Her finger pointed out the question she was having an issue with and he almost let out a sigh of relief before he began to explain it, smiling when Sage’s face lit up in recognition.

             “Oh yeah, and that relates back to question 3, with the similarities in change of colour!” She clapped her hands together and scribbled down the answer before looking back at James, smiling widely at him. “Thanks, James.”

             James wanted her to say his name until he no longer associated it with himself.

             “Actually,” he stopped her, ready to take advantage of them both taking Advanced Potions and her skill in the subject, “can you help me with Potions? You’re really good at it and I don’t understand Golpalott’s Third Law. At all.” This wasn’t a lie - James really had no idea who the fuck Golpalott was and what his third law said. He knew it had something to do with… poison? Possibly? He didn’t know what the other two laws were, either.

             “Yeah, I can, actually,” she said, smiling sweetly, a hint of pride in her eyes. “So, Golpalott's Third Law is used for creating antidotes for poisons. It’s basically like… okay, so say you hated someone, and you wanted to poison them, but you were really… mad, I guess, so instead of just giving them a poison, you mixed, let’s say three, different poisons together. Then you gave it to them and then decided you didn’t want to murder them, so you try to figure out an antidote. It relates to the idea that you can’t just take the antidotes for each of the three poisons and mix them together to get an actual antidote…” Sage continued, trying her best to explain things in a way which made sense.

             “Wow,” he said as she finished, seemingly amazed. “I actually got that. Thanks, Sage.”

             There was a moment where all they did was look at each other, smiling subtly, both feeling fluttery. This was something they could look back on years later, a moment where they’d remember their youth and how it felt to fancy someone and be too nervous to say anything. The air between them was sweet and soft, light hanging in the air like sunlight visible as it hit floating dust.

             For a second, Sage imagined herself as an old woman, thinking back to ‘the good old days’ and long, lost romances. Adventures she had, once. How often would she think back to her time at Hogwarts? It was hard to think she wouldn’t – Hogwarts was her whole life, then, so thinking about not thinking about it was something she just couldn’t do. How could she just forget all about something so important to her?

             Either way, she did wonder what she would think when she did think of Hogwarts. Would she gradually start to forget things she found familiar now? Like the ceiling in her dorm she stared up at when she couldn’t sleep - would she forget the subtle swirls that covered it? What about the way the Hufflepuff common room smelled on a Saturday morning? At some point, would she forget what it was like to be sixteen, to wear pleated skirts and ties because she was forced to? Would there come a day where she no longer knew how it felt to stick her feet in the Black Lake after a day of exams, kick back with friends over cool drinks? Would the feeling of stone castle walls against her fingertips leave her? Someday, might she not know what living in a place older than she could even comprehend was like? Would the stories of Hogwarts, whether her own or those of people she knew, leave her memory? Would she forget people? Would James be one of them?

             Sage’s all-too-existential thoughts were cut off as someone approached their table and stopped in front of them with a scoff. The Hufflepuff girl and Gryffindor boy looked away from each other and at the other person who stood, hands on their hips, lip curled in a sneer.

             “What do you want, Lucinda?” Sage sighed, rolling her eyes to seem like she was just feeling annoyed when in reality her heart was beating like crazy. She hadn’t seen Lucinda Talkalot since Saturday, when her nose was broken, but apparently this streak couldn’t be kept up.

             Two of Lucinda’s friends stood behind her in a protective manner, and sported matching glares aimed right at Sage. Lucinda stood, arms crossed, leaning as to put all her weight on her right leg. Her black hair was in a sleek and tight ponytail, making her look meaner somehow. She scoffed, and her blue eyes shifted from Sage to James then back to the Hufflepuff, whose hand was clenched around her quill.

             “Gotten yourself a bodyguard, Charles?” Lucinda scoffed again then pressed her lips tightly together. “Unless… you actually like Potter?” She mocked, placing a hand over her heart. “Is this a study date? How… quaint.” Her two friends let out quiet laughs.

             “Don’t you have better things to do with your time?” Sage tried to mirror Lucinda’s ‘devil-may-care’ attitude. It annoyed her when Lucinda called her by her last name so often – she found it weird and strangely professional whenever anyone did so with anyone, but it was common, at least among British Wizard Teens.

             “My, my, Sage. So uptight.” Lucinda took another step forward, “I thought you ‘Puffs were all too high all the time to be such stick-in-the-muds.” Sage had to force herself to put her quill down so she didn’t break it by clenching her fist too hard.

             “Whatever, Lucinda.” Sage took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down so she wouldn’t jump out of her seat and start strangling the girl.

             Lucinda let out an over exaggerated gasp, “I know -- it’s just because you need to get laid. Or… have you never done that before?”

             Sage narrowed her eyes at the girl, appalled. “Do you really think I care what people think about my virginity? Dream on.” James was looking at Sage with big eyes and a heated face.

             “Either way, it’s not like anyone wants to sleep with you,” Lucinda said. Sage rolled her eyes.

             “Wow, did you go all the way back to primary school for these insults or did they just now come to you?” The snort James let out made Sage feel, strangely, much better – it was a weird sort of support, but support all the same.

             “None of your concern.” Lucinda didn’t look bothered. Her eyes turned dark and menacing as she continued, “you should worry about yourself. You won’t always have Potter here to protect you, will you?”

             James was about to say something, but Sage him beat it to it. “I’ll be fine, Lucinda. Don’t worry yourself too much.”

             “See you around, Sage.” With this, Lucinda turned around and sauntered off. Her friends looked back at Sage, sending her glares as they all left.

             Sage let out a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. “Sorry about that,” she addressed James, looking down at the table.

             “Are you not scared of her or her gang?” James asked, surprised. Sage shifted her gaze up at him.

             “I’m absolutely terrified.” She took another deep breath, “but it’s whatever. She’s totally going to end up beating me up some day, but I can’t live my life in hiding just because she wants to fuck me up.”

             The black-haired boy stared at her for a second. “That is… both really brave and really dumb.”

             “Yeah, that’s fair,” said Sage, shrugging before she let out a giggle and glanced out the window. “Oh wow, it’s gotten late. Wendy’s probably worried -- I should head back.” Sage started to gather her stuff off the table, shoving it all back into her bag without bothering to care about organizing it all (but she took care to keep her things from getting crumpled up and messy).

             “Oh, I’ll walk you.” James mirrored her actions, standing and hanging his bag over his shoulder.

             “You don’t have to,” Sage said, standing as well.

             “It’s my pleasure, really.” The pair looked at each other. Sage shrugged.

             “Yeah, okay, I’d like that.”

             While James grinned, the two of them made their way out of the library, walking through the castle as they made small talk, getting to know each other.

             “It’s almost time for dinner, most likely,” said Sage as they passed a window, judging the time based off the sun’s placement in the sky. “I’m not really very hungry, though. You?”

             “Nah, I had a lot for lunch.”

             “Ah, same here.”

             “What’d you have?”

             “Sandwich, probably.” This conversation wasn’t the best, but somehow, Sage could feel their relationship developing. “Like, ham or something. Dunno. You?”

             “Don’t remember. Probably something starchy – that’s most of what I eat, that and vegetables and such.”

             “Really? Not a big meat guy?”

             “No, actually.” James chuckled awkwardly, hoping Sage didn’t notice his nose crinkle up. “I’m a vegetarian. An herbivore, if you will.”

             Sage nodded, not aware that James had just made a sort-of joke (herbivore, deer? Get it? He was too funny, sometimes. To be fair, he was pretty certain it was the Animagus thing which turned him off to meat so much). “Ah, that’s cool, I guess.”

             “Yeah.” A second of silence and James worked his charismatic magic again, asking her, “you like music?”

             “Oh, hell yes.” Sage’s enthusiastic response made James laugh,

             “Okay, favourite band?” Sage asked, walking beside James down a staircase.

             “If I had to choose… AC/DC. Or… Sirius might kill me if I don’t say the Ramones, he’s been so into them the past few weeks – months, really… Who’s yours?” The pair walked down a hallway, leading towards the Hufflepuff Common room.

             “Okay, they’re pretty small, but I’ve got to go with the Sex Pistols,” said Sage, though their name made her feel just a tad awkward.  

             “Ah, I think I’ve heard of them. Sirius might’ve mentioned them, but I don’t think he’s really heard them. Creative name. They good?”

             “Really good.”

             James was just about to ask her another question, glad he was getting to talk to her so much (and he was happy he wasn’t tripping over his nerves), but a Hufflepuff came running up to Sage from a bit further down the hall and stopped him.

             “Ah, there you are! I was starting to get worried.” As classes were over, Wendy was dressed in casual Muggle clothes (looking rather stylish in bell bottom blue jeans and a white, long-sleeved shirt with green and orange horizontal stripes). “Hey, James.”

             “Hey Wendy.” James smiled at the girl then turned to Sage. “I’m going to head on up to Gryffindor tower. Catch you on the flip side, Sage.”

             “Thanks for walking me.” Sage said as Wendy grabbed her arm and started to drag her away. “Bye!” As the girls turned a corner, James let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He turned, heading away, a dopey smile on his face.

             “Okay, what was that?” Wendy asked Sage once they got into the common room. Sage threw her stuff onto one of the plush sofas and plopped down onto it, melting into it.

             “He offered to walk me back and I wanted him to, so, you know. We ended up staying late doing homework. Pretty boring, honestly. Until Lucinda showed up--”

             “Lucinda showed up? Ew. Did she try anything?” Wendy interrupted her friend from her end of the couch.

             “Not really, but she was really… weird. She taunted me a little, but it wasn’t too bad. It was honestly just awkward because James was there. I think a lot of the stuff she said trying to embarrass me in front of him, but I ignored most of it, you know.” Sage loosened her tie, taking it off and putting it with her bag and robe.

             “What did she say?” Wendy brought her legs up on the couch with her, bending them so she could rest her chin on her knees with her arms wrapped around them.

             “She called me a virgin at some point. Which didn’t really bother me, and I told her that. Then she did her usual threats and left.” Sage yawned. “What time is it?”

             “Almost dinner. Did anything at all happen with James?”

             “I mean, we talked a lot walking here. And like, we helped each other with our homework sometimes. He didn’t bring up Saturday, thank Merlin - I dunno what I’d’ve told him.” Sage blushed, “he’s really cute though.”

             “So we know you’re attracted to him, but do you like him, you know?”

             “I still don’t know. Like... talking with him was nice, but that might just be because he’s so charismatic.” Sage unbuttoned a couple of the buttons on the top of her shirt, letting a bit more of her skin breathe.

             “Alright, well, I want food, so let’s get going, man.” Wendy stood, “do you want to change or anything?”

             “Sure? Eh, nah, it’s chill.” Still, Sage ran over to their dorm to throw her bag and robe on her bed, sure to grab her wand. She put her tie back on, then ran back to the common room where Wendy stood with some other Hufflepuffs in their year.

             “Apparently, there’s a movie coming out soon my cousin thinks I’d like.” Wendy spoke as the group left the common room. “Carrie. I don’t really know what it’s about, but she said it looks real far out, so want to see it, you know?”

             The Hufflepuffs made their way to the Great Hall, chattering amongst themselves, looking forward to spending dinner together.


	3. Three

The first weekend in November meant the first Quidditch match of the season, a kick-off game between the two houses with the most hostility towards each other, Gryffindor and Slytherin, which was always sure to be high-energy and high-spirited. The next match would be in two weekends, Hufflepuff against Ravenclaw. As of their 5th year when Sage became captain, during Quidditch season, almost all she thought of was the game. Her room was full of charts and graphs, and she was using a notebook Wendy got her to write down plays in her free time. Wendy, as someone who loved Sage but didn’t really care for sports, offered her moral support and didn’t understand what she was talking about a lot of the time (like, no matter how many times Sage explained them, Wendy was always lost when she mentioned Blatching, Blurting, Bumphing, and other such nonsense words).

“Are you coming to the game with me?” Sage asked Wendy on Friday as they sat in the common room finishing their homework, the day before Gryffindor and Slytherin went head-to-head. Wendy hadn’t given Sage a straight answer all week, waiting to decide if she was up to it or not – she knew from experience how much energy was spent with Sage at Quidditch games.

“Yeah,” Wendy said, making Sage grin. “But we aren’t doing what we did last time. I want to be there just to enjoy the game. You can watch and take notes, but not _every move_.”

“Okay. Maybe just every goal?” Sage questioned, but she got her answer in the look Wendy gave her. “That’s a no. Okay, groovy, I’ll not do that.”

The two girls headed down to breakfast that next morning, arm in arm. They wore coordinated outfits - matching bell bottom jeans and sweaters. Sage’s sweater was gold and Wendy’s green, showing support for both sides of the match, as they had friends in both houses. They were walking, laughing as they shared with each other the dreams they had the night before. Sage had just finished talking about her wand transforming into a tentacle when they were stopped outside of the Great Hall by none other than James Potter.

“You coming to the game to support me today, Sage?” He smirked at the brown-haired girl, looking and feeling cocky.

“We’re going in support of both houses,” Sage smiled, gesturing to the girls’ sweaters.

“So, _you_ are technically supporting Gryffindor by wearing gold, Sage.” The boy glanced back at his friends. Sirius gave him two thumbs up, Remus a smile, and Peter was noticing a stain he had gotten on his shirt.

“Or maybe I’m secretly just supporting Hufflepuff,” said Sage slyly.

“Maybe regularly, but when Talkalot is Slytherin’s captain…” James pointing this out made Sage grin.

“I guess you’ve got me there,” Sage let out a small laugh, directing Wendy into the Hall. Her friend entered, but Sage looked back at the boy. “Good luck, James.” With this, she followed her friend, leaving James to turn to his, face flushed and heart thumping.

Wendy and Sage walked down to the pitch along with a group of their friends from all houses. They sat in a section as close to the middle as possible, where Sage could see most of the action. She rolled up her sleeves (it was warmer than expected) and took out her notebook and a “pen” (Wendy had gotten it for her - it was a quill she never had to dip in ink!), prepared to only write down the important stuff.

Soon enough, the game started. Sage started to take notes immediately on how the players moved and acted. True to her word, though, she spent most of her time just watching the match. She found herself cheering for Gryffindor more often, but still let out occasional cheers for Slytherin when someone she liked or didn’t mind did something well.

Sage had notes on all the players and the styles of the groups themselves. She didn’t end up writing as much as she had expected or wanted, but she did get some crucial information. Particularly, she watched the Chasers and Keepers as they played, as she would be up against them as a Chaser herself. The main threat seemed to be Gryffindor, but she still took Slytherin seriously.

“Haki has the ball, he’s running it down to Slytherin’s goalpost… WOAH, watch out Haki, there’s a bludger! Haki passes the ball to James Potter below him, and… Gryffindor scores! With 40-30, Gryffindor pulls ahead.” Ray Palmer, the school’s sport commentator, had his voice projected all around the pitch, giving a play-by-play of the game.

“Oh, a dirty attempt to block Kimberly Hatter from getting the quaffle by Slytherin! But it was a ploy - Haki has stolen the quaffle from Lucinda Talkalot, Gryffindor in possession-- has Jeremy Scott spotted the snitch? Ooh, false alarm, folks. Or-- no! Link Dominic’s spotted it! He’s speeding off towards the snitch, Scott hot on his tail… he’s reaching for it… oh! Scott has grabbed Dominic’s broom, stopping him from catching the elusive snitch! A penalty shot is awarded to Gryffindor.”

Sage watched, eyes glued to James as he caught the quaffle, about to take the shot. He pretended to throw it to the right, and as soon as Slytherin’s keeper dived to block the ball, James had already thrown it to the left.

“Another 10 points to Gryffindor, keeping in the lead with 50-30! Nice shot, Potter!”

As the game progressed, the Slytherin team got more and more aggressive, sending most of the bludgers towards James, seeing him, correctly, as their biggest threat.

At some point, just as James reached out his arms to catch the quaffle, a well-timed bludger slammed into his wrist. Sage watched it happen, and her smile quickly disappeared as she stood, leaning over the railing like many others to check on the boy who was now holding his hand in pain.

The Gryffindor captain called a timeout to check on him, the team joining them all on the ground. Sage and the rest of the crowd watched in anticipation as the team talked amongst themselves, wondering what they whispered to each other. After a couple seconds, the team all rose back into the air.

“I’m being told he’s broken his hand, but he’s going to keep going! What a great player - I don’t think any of the Slytherins are strong enough to do that.”

“Ray…” Professor McGonagall's voice chimed in as a warning to keep his comments neutral.

“Okay, okay! I was just saying… anyways, Gryffindor has the quaffle!” The commentary continued. A few minutes of the ball being stolen by the two different teams passed.

“It seems Haki won’t be able to make this shot,” Ray said as all the action happened toward the Slytherin end of the pitch. “He’s got two of Slytherin’s Chasers and their Keeper blocking him-- he’ll have to make a pass! Hatter is to his right, with an easier shot, blocked by only one Chaser!”

But to his left was James, who had come up with a plan after he broke his hand. Holding the throbbing limb close to his stomach, he released his unbroken hand’s grip on his broom. Haki looked over to James, and upon seeing this, threw the ball to him. Thank Merlin for gripping charms.

“JAMES POTTER HAS CAUGHT THE BALL! Gryffindor is possession! Potter lines up the shot… HE’S DONE IT! James Potter has scored ten additional points for Gryffindor, bringing them up to 60 points against Slytherin’s 30!” The crowd was going wild, mainly with cheers for James. Sage yelled out her support, adding to the noise.

“Talkalot’s gotten the ball again, heading to Gryffindor’s goalposts… Woah!” Ray shouted as Jeremy Scott zoomed right past where he was sitting. “Scott has spotted the snitch! Dominic heads toward it too… the Slytherin and Gryffindor seekers are neck and neck!”

The whole game basically stopped, crowd and teams watching the Seekers race. The crowd went silent, on the edge of their seats. Even Ray said nothing as Jeremy started shoving Link, who shoved back just enough to make him mad. While he was getting prepared to slam into him, the Gryffindor pulled ahead.

“And Link Dominic has caught the snitch, giving Gryffindor a 150-point bonus! Gryffindor wins with an end score of 210-30!” Ray’s voice echoed, barely audible over the roar of the crowd.

The two teams touched down, and the Gryffindors were quickly swarmed by fans. Sage stayed in the stands, watching with a smile as they celebrated their win.

She quickly scribbled down the ending number of points for both teams, slammed the notebook shut, and shoved it and the ‘pen’ into her bag. She stood and slung the bag over her shoulder, heading with Wendy to join their other friends in heading back to the castle. Sage smiled as she noticed Wendy had turned her sweater scarlet to match the Gryffindor colour. With Sage’s gold sweater, the pair were now showing support for the winners.

Sage grabbed Wendy’s arm, signalling the girl to look at her. “Should I go congratulate him?” She questioned, clueless. They were _talking_ now, and seemed to have some relationship. And as Quidditch captain, it wouldn’t be too strange for her to congratulate him… if he really did have a crush on her, it would mean a lot for her to do so, too…

“If you want to, I’ll go with. We should go soon though because he’s probably going to get his hand fixed.” Wendy said. Sage smiled at the girl and made a quick decision, grabbing her friend’s hand and heading onto the field where the team was still being congratulated.

Sage made her way through the multitudes of people, where she frequently had to jump to see over some of them. Eventually, she found her way to the centre where the team was standing.

“James!” She shouted, hoping he could hear her over the chatter around them. Apparently, he did, as he turned towards her. Sage was taken aback by his good looks once again. His acorn-coloured skin was glistening, sweaty and surely hot, his eyes wide with excitement, always-messy hair now something best described as _wild_.  

“Sage!” Grinning even wider (if it was possible), he enveloped Sage in a full hug using only his left arm, startling her for a second before she smiled and hugged back.  

“Ah! Right on, Gryffindor colours!” He said after pulling away and glancing at Wendy’s sweater’s colour change. Wendy and Sage laughed, sharing a look. James joined in, laughing for a second before wincing - his hand was still broken.

“You need to go get that healed, James.” Sage took a step back, grabbing Wendy’s hand again, getting ready to go. “But congratulations - that was some stellar playing. Especially the last goal. Honestly, if you were my Chaser, I would have kissed you. After slapping you for still playing with a broken hand,” she joked.

“I mean, I could be _your_ Chaser, if you wanted,” James flirted, making Sage’s face flush. She got a sudden flashback to before 5th year - suddenly, she understood what it was like to be in Lily’s shoes. Perhaps he _did_ have a crush on her.

“Very funny, James.” She laughed and rolled her eyes, trying to not seem as bewitched by him as she was, backing into the crowd. Before she fell out of sight, she told him again, “congrats, man.”

Wendy and Sage rushed off, heading back to the castle. It took almost no time at all for Wendy to look at her, demanding an explanation Sage didn’t have.

“What was that?!” Wendy said, shocked, as the girls walked.

“Honestly, you’d have a better time explaining it to me. I have no idea,” Sage replied, flustered.

“Were you two like that when you were studying? If you were, I don’t know how you didn’t end up snogging each other's faces off.” Wendy said frankly.

“You’re exaggerating - we weren’t that bad. But... it was different from before. He wasn’t so overtly flirty, you know?”

“Maybe it’s like he was more confident today, after winning, you know? So, like, he was up to taking risks. I don’t know.” Wendy suggested. Both the girls were silent for a second until Wendy added, “but he’s a Gryffindor so you can figure he doesn’t need any help taking risks.” The girls broke out in laughs.

  
  


James had a hard time convincing himself _it isn’t creepy_ , no matter how many times he repeated it mentally. But he already had the Marauder’s Map activated and open on his lap as he lounged on his bed, curtains drawn around him. He was bored. So he was looking over the Map, just looking, not for anyone in particular. Really. It wasn’t creepy.

 

It just  _ happened  _ to be that Hufflepuff basement was right where he unfolded the map, and he just  _ happened  _ to look at all the names there,  _ absentmindedly _ searching for Sage’s. He wasn’t going to  _ do  _ anything with this information, and was really just  _ looking  _ to have the comfort of knowing she was at home, most likely comfortable. He wasn’t  _ creepy _ and he wasn’t  _ stalking _ her, not  _ really _ . 

 

But when he  _ didn’t see  _ her name where it  _ should’ve been _ , he got a little more upset. He could see Wendy, and surely Sage  _ should’ve  _ been close by, but she wasn’t! Poof! Gone!

And it wasn’t creepy that he was looking – _casually!_ – over the map, trying to find her name. It was simple _curiosity_ , that’s all. Where would she be if she wasn’t home? The Greenhouses? No, she wasn’t there. The Great Hall? No. Kitchens? Nope. (The more he looked for her, the harder it got to tell himself _it isn’t creepy!_ But he did it anyway, as this was beginning to become a quest. The more he looked, the stranger he felt).

It was when he looked over the library when he saw her name moving down a corridor alone, just leaving the probably now-closed location. So he could imagine - she was doing some late studying before the library closed, but now she was headed home. 

James hadn’t realized he was sitting so tense until he let out a sigh and let his body relax, falling back in his bed (he’d sat up the more intense the search became). The back of his head hit his headboard softly and he closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing deeply once before he opened his eyes again.

 

He glanced down at the map, watching her dot move along the hall, alone. Only a second later, he noticed a dot move into view, previously hidden by a fold of the map, seemingly following Sage at a distance. In most situations, James would’ve _tried_ (and likely failed) to calm himself down, say ‘ _they’re just walking down the same hall, it doesn’t mean anything_ ’ and claim that people could be heading in the same direction without ulterior motive. But this kind of thought process didn’t occur, as James read the name following her. He didn’t think too much and shot up, drawing his curtains back and grabbing his wand.

“Trouble – Sage – library – map,” he said, directing his words at his three friends, all of whom sat up to question him, all getting ready to prepare for bed (they weren’t quite ready for bed prep yet, though).

“Do you want us to come with?” asked Remus.

On the map in his hands, he watched, shoving on his shoes, as Sage slowed to a stop. James could almost see her turning around to realize who was following her, as Lucinda Talkalot’s name got closer and closer to Sage’s before it stopped where the two girls could have a conversation. James was sure they wouldn’t end up just _talking_.

James was running out of his dorm, hopping on one foot as he tried to get his shoe on properly, shouting back at his friends, “no, stay here, it’ll be fine if I get there in time,” before he shot down the stairs, through the common room, and out the portrait hole, manoeuvring through people.

Rushing down the corridor outside of Gryffindor tower, James glanced down at the map again. Lucinda and Sage’s dots hadn’t moved, which meant they were either talking or fighting. James heavily doubted Lucinda was in the mood to live up to her last name.

No matter how much he rushed, James was unlikely to make it there in time to stop anything – he knew this, but was still upset as Lucinda’s name started walking again, turning around and heading towards the dungeons, an alternate route to the one Sage had been taking. He just knew it was over and Sage, who moved over to the wall before stopping, making James assume she had sat down, was hurt in some way.

James spotted Sage immediately after turning the corner into the hallway with her name. Rushing over, he found he had been correct, she was sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. Her head and shoulders were hunched over, hands on her face. Her normally brown hair was hanging around her, hiding her face from view, now a deep blue.

 

“Sage!” James said, getting down on his knees and inspecting the girl who looked up at him slowly, hand covering most of her face below her eyes. James quickly noticed the blood slipping in between her fingers, slowly dripping down onto her skirt.

“James?” Sage said, seeming more surprised than anything. “What are you doing here?” Voice nasal, she took one hand off her face to brush her blue hair behind her ear.

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” James said, avoiding the subject. “What happened?”

“Lucinda.” Sage began, “I’m pretty sure she followed me from the library, started throwing hexes at me, I sent some back, so she punched me and broke my nose. At least, I think it’s broken…”

“That…” James huffed, obviously angry. He forced himself to calm down, “we should get you to the Hospital Wing.”

“No, I don’t… I just have to get back to my common room. Wendy will be so worried, and there are people there who can fix me, it’s fine.” Sage waved him off with her spare hand, grabbing her wand and starting to stand.

“Ow!” Sage hissed immediately after putting weight on her left leg, looking down to notice a long gash going down the side of her thigh. “She cut my leg, too? I didn’t even notice. Bitch.”

“You can’t walk all the way to Hufflepuff like that, Sage.” He took a deep breath as she inspected the cut on her leg.

“You really won’t go to the Hospital Wing?” he questioned, and upon seeing her shake her head, he took out his wand.

“Woah, James…” Sage said, putting up her hand to signal him to stop. She looked deeply into his hazel eyes, and he looked back at her green ones that were trying to figure out if this was a bad idea. It wasn’t like she _didn’t trust_ him, she just… didn’t trust him.

“Trust me,” he said, “I’ve gotten pretty good at healing spells. With the amount of trouble I get into…” Sage took a deep breath, closing her eyes and uttering a silent prayer to whoever was listening he didn’t fuck up.

“Okay,” Sage sighed. James brought his left hand to the hand over her nose, his fingers gently pulling it away from her face. It didn’t look that bad, but her nose was obviously broken, and had bled quite a lot.

James lifted his wand and whispered, “episkey.” Sage’s nose felt suddenly very hot then very cold, and she took her hand away from James’ to gently touch her face, where her nose was seemingly fixed. Upon this realization, she let out a breath of relief.

“Oh, thank fuck,” she whispered to herself. She addressed James, strangely cute, “that really fucking hurt.” James smiled at her, letting out a chuckle.

After another incantation, the cut on Sage’s leg was no longer bleeding and open. “It’s healed, but there’ll probably be a scar,” James smiled at the girl. She looked at him for a second, taking a deep breath before wrapping her arms around him.

He almost immediately hugged her back. As he did so, he could smell… _something_. He had never been the best with recognizing smells, and was totally unable to name something by its scent. All he knew was it was familiar, and he knew he liked it. Meanwhile, Sage’s newly healed nose was sensing musk and the scent which only came with hanging around a bonfire.

Sage pulled away after a few seconds, holding onto his shoulders to stare him deep in the eyes, “thank you, James.” She sent him a smile as the two of them sat there, looking at each other.

“So,” Sage leaned back, doing a hair flip to show the blue off. It was a deep blue reminiscent of the ocean. “What do you think of the blue? Not really in style right now, but I like it.”

“I think it’s really groovy. Almost like it’s ahead of its time, you know?” James’ words made Sage smile.

“Yeah… Oh shit!” Sage stood suddenly, “Wendy’s probably dying right now, I need to head back.”

“Are you sure you’re okay to be walking?” James stood as well, arms ready to catch her if she fell.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Sage turned to the boy, “thanks to you.” James smiled at her, his face hot. “I’m guessing you aren’t going to let me walk back all by myself?”

“Nope,” he chuckled, the two of them heading down towards the basement.

“So, with all the trouble you get up to, I’m betting you’ve explored the castle a lot.” Sage spoke, looking at the boy out of the corner of her eye.

“Yeah, quite a bit,” he replied, a soft smile on his face as he thought of the Marauder’s Map that he’d deactivated before he ran into Sage and now had shoved into his back pocket, where it hung out quite a lot.

“So… what all do you know about the Hufflepuff Basement?” Sage was curious - every group of first years was told the Hufflepuff common room had not been seen by the eyes of any non-Hufflepuff in a thousand years. Was this false? Had James and his friends broken this streak?

“Well,” James glanced at the girl, not sure if he wanted to tell her the truth. “I know _where it is_.” Sage looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Behind those barrels.”

Sage narrowed her eyes jokingly, “do you know how to get _into_ the common room?”

“You have to tap those barrels with your wand.” James said, hoping she’d be the one to elaborate and not ask him to.

“You know, when someone taps on the wrong barrel or in the wrong way, they get doused in vinegar and are barred from entering,” Sage looked ahead as she spoke then shifted her eyes to James. “Have _you_ ever been doused in our vinegar, James?”

The look on his face told her everything she needed to know, making her smile and say excitedly, “you’ve never been in!” She let out a giggle, “the streak remains unbroken! No outsiders in a thousand years.”

“Well, do _you_ know where Gryffindor is?” James asked, hoping he would stump her.

“Yeah, it’s in Gryffindor Tower. Behind the portrait of Elizabeth, or ‘the Fat Lady’ as you all call her - such an awful name, by the way - who reveals the passageway if you tell her the correct password. I don’t know what it is now, but at one point it was ‘wattlebird’.” Sage said, a grin on her face.

“Wait, so you’ve been in the Gryffindor Common Room?” James mouth fell open slightly, surprise written all over him.

“Yes, haven’t you?”  

“How did I not know about this?”

“I mean, you’re not the only person who lives there, you know.” There was a pause, then, “I’ve only been once, but it was really mellow. It’s super cosy. I almost fell asleep, honestly. Those fireplaces? Ace.”  

“Wait,” James interrupted, “have you been in the other Common Rooms, too?”

“Yeah. They’re all amazing. It’s so nice to see how different they are, how perfect they are for the people in that house. Like, I will always say Hufflepuff is the best, but that’s because I’m a Hufflepuff. If I was a Ravenclaw, theirs would be the best, because it’s the best for hypothetical-Ravenclaw-Sage. Although, as a Hufflepuff, I must admit, their entrance is the coolest. Annoying though, I’m sure, if you just want to go to bed and it asks a super hard riddle.”

“I didn’t realize you were so… well-travelled.” James was, quite frankly, at a loss for words.

“Well, I’ve got a whole lot of friends, you know.”

“And none of these friends have been inside your Common Room?”

“No. They let me in because they want me in, and they get that I won’t let them into mine. Some of them _really_ want in, but still respect my wishes, you know?” Neither of them said anything for a couple seconds.

“James,” Sage interrupted the silence, voice serious. The two teenagers turned to look at each other. “Tell me something.”

“Anything,” James said immediately.

“What are you planning to do to Lucinda?” Sage looked deeply into the black-haired boy’s eyes.

“I don’t know yet.” All James had planned was to talk to his mates to figure out what to do. He knew it would be something she’d never forget.

“Don’t do anything, please.” Sage took in a breath, afraid of his reaction.

“What?” James had no other words -- did she just want to let Lucinda go? Do nothing?

“Let me handle it.” James was about to respond, but just as his mouth opened, she spoke again. “Trust me.”

A whirlwind of thoughts flew around his mind, but seeing the expression on her face and the emotion in her eyes, he shoved them away.

“Okay. I’ll let you handle it,” he said reluctantly, watching her face as it shifted to show her releif, her lips turned up slightly at the corners.

“Thank you.”

“But really, if you need any help, ask me.” James paused for a second between serious statements. “I’ll do anything.” 

“I will,” said Sage with a smile. The pair of teenagers continued their walking, soon coming to the entrance to the kitchens where Sage and James said their goodbyes. Sage thanked the boy once again, giving him a hug before waving him off. He rolled his eyes but started walking away. As soon as he turned left the kitchen corridor, he heard a rhythmic tapping, then silence.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! So author's note -- this fic is actually done, but I'm going to upload weekly (hopefully - I am in school right now so I'm pretty busy). I hope you all like it! It's very long, I'm not going to lie. It's *really* long. And as such, by the time I got to the end, I'd improved greatly in skill. So even though I've reviewed the beginning about 500 times, I still don't think it's as good as the end. Also, if you happen to see any errors, please point them out to me! I didn't get a beta on this (though I probably should've) and copying and pasting the text between different documents and document types could've fucked the format in a way I didn't notice. So if anything is messed up, let me know and I'll change it asap! Thanks. x


	4. Four

The next day, the second Saturday in November, all third-year students and above, with the permission of a parent or guardian, could go to Hogsmeade, the nearby wizarding village. As sixth-years, Wendy and Sage had already been to Hogsmeade multiple times and had reached the point where most of the novelty wore off. But they still went occasionally, as it was a fun thing to do and they enjoyed spending time together (even though they already spent most of their time together).

After the chaos of the previous night, both witches felt like what they needed was to head down to the Three Broomsticks pub and sip on some butterbeer to unwind. So, they dressed for the increasingly cooler, overcast weather, gathered up some money (much of it spare change), and set off.      

Stopping by the Great Hall for a small breakfast, Sage and Wendy sat at the Hufflepuff table as they always did, making small talk with the students around them (much of it, in the beginning, about Sage’s suddenly blue hair). Sage was listening to Emilia talk about her pet rabbit at home when she noticed it – something over at the Slytherin table. Something blue. _Bright_ blue).

Over at the Slytherin table, with a nasty look on her face, sat Lucinda Talkalot, her skin no longer its usual pale white, instead a bright blue - a shade of the colour that sat somewhere between being obnoxious and pretty while, somehow, managing to be both and neither at the same time.

Jaw dropping in astonishment, Sage didn’t take her eyes off the scowling girl as she hit Wendy’s shoulder (lightly, of course) to get her attention, pointing over at Lucinda.

“Is that…?” Wendy stared at Lucinda, who was picking at her eggs. “Talkalot… but blue?”

“Uh-huh,” said Sage, unblinking.

“Oh… my God.” Wendy let out an airy chuckle, covering her mouth quickly to muffle her snickers. It didn’t really work.

“I’m…” unable to form a coherent sentence, Sage closed her mouth, eyes still glued to Lucinda’s blue skin.

“She’s blue,” said Wendy, her laughs stopping, replaced with a grin.

“Uh-huh.”

“Bright blue.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s totally because of James.”

Sage said nothing and only nodded. She was torn. On one hand, she had told him not to do anything. But on the other… Lucinda having blue skin wasn’t a _terrible_ punishment. It’d probably fade at some point, and it didn’t seem to be harming much more than her pride. And Sage had to admit, seeing Lucinda with oddly-coloured flesh did make her feel better.

Sage and Wendy eventually went back to their breakfasts, both sending occasional looks over at Lucinda, unable to stop themselves from letting out giggles at the sight of her. When the girls left the Great Hall, they let out thundering laughs as they walked off.

The trek to the village was nice. They stopped often so people could comment on Sage’s hair - everyone seemed to be loving the blue colour, though Sage did notice some girls huddled together and giggling, glancing at Sage. She figured they were making fun of her, but she didn’t care. She just turned to her best friend and focused on having a good time.

By the time they made it to Hogsmeade, the sky had gotten darker with the threat of rain. Sage looked up in a huff. She wanted to be in the Three Broomsticks when it started raining, but she had other things she wanted to do and take care of. The parchment in her back pocket was one of these things, if not the most important to her.

“Do you want to take care of that first?” Wendy asked, noticing how Sage’s hand absentmindedly moved to her back pocket. Sage nodded and the two of them hurried to Hogsmeade’s post office. Upon picking out an owl, she took the piece of parchment out of her pocket and giving it to the creature.

The letter was for her brother. His name was August, he was six years older than her, her only living relative and legal guardian, one of her favourite people ever to exist in the whole of all history ever, kind of an arse, and he lived in France. She hadn’t written much, just something to fill him in on her life at Hogwarts (she did _not_ include Lucinda Talkalot, although she had been tempted to rant a bit). Sage hoped it would inspire him to write back, as he didn’t often (he tended to forget to if she didn’t remind him).  

The Hufflepuff girls left the post office and looked at each other with matching grins. Immediately, they headed to Honeydukes. A tinkling bell and a wave of sweet-smelling scents greeted Sage when she opened the door. She held the door open for Wendy silently, mentally mapping out where to look first and planning how much she could get for all the money she had on her (minus what she was saving for butterbeer).

When they left, their wallets were lighter and hearts lifted higher. (Retail therapy is so much better when candy comes out of it.) Across the street from Honeydukes, a hairdresser caught Sage’s eye, prompting her to remember that she most likely should fix the blue-hair thing.  

“Should I go get my hair fixed?” She wondered aloud, “I figure showing up to classes on Monday with blue hair isn’t the best idea.”

“Huh,” Wendy said, eying the dark sky wearily. “Why don’t we do it after we get drinks?”

“That sounds good,” the Scottish girl nodded, starting to walk to the pub. “But we have to remem--”

A drop of water on Sage’s forehead cut her off and made her stop in her tracks, slowly looking up into the dark grey sky. A roll of thunder came from above a millisecond before the heavens opened onto the whole of Hogsmeade and buckets of water poured down onto them. The girls had no choice but to run into the closest store as quick as they could, trying to save themselves from getting soaked to the bone.

Sage yanked the door open and rushed inside, Wendy hot on her heels. With a quick movement, she closed the door, shutting out the sudden wind and water. Although they had been out in it for about three seconds, the girls were both quite wet, a layer of liquid on their shoulders.  

A glance out the window on the door revealed nothing, as what looked like a waterfall fell onto the glass. Sage let out a breath and turned around to look at the shop and her friend. Wendy looked back at her, eyes wide and out of breath. The blue haired girl recognized the shop vaguely – she’d been here before, but only once or twice.  

“Are we in Zonko’s?” Wendy asked, noticing the objects around her. “These things always freak me out-- I thought pranking was bad in the muggle world, where they don’t have… what even _is_ that?”

“That--” a masculine voice said from behind a display, the speaker stepping so the friends could see him. Sirius Black had a grin on his face that made Sage either want to run or hide. Or slap him. Either way, the charming boy looked as if his default state was ‘up to no good.’ “--is a pigmentum block. You shoot sparks at it and it explodes, covering everything with paint.”

“Okay…” Wendy took a step back, eyeing the small box wearily, glancing at her friend with a look which silently asked, ‘ _what the fuck’._ Sage shrugged, wondering if James was around. She wanted to have a talk with him.

“Hey, Sirius, did you get--” another boy appeared, not looking up from the parchment in his hands until he had gotten to the group. “Oh, hey, Sage.”

“Hello, Remus,” the damp, blue-haired girl said in surprise. Sirius disappeared deeper into the store.

“How has your Saturday been?” Remus asked politely, a distinct mischievous glint in his eye.

“Nice, aside from this sudden rain.” She was just about to ask how _his_ Saturday was doing when Sirius returned with James in tow, Peter behind him.

“Sage? What are you doing here?” The messy-haired troublemaker said, looking at the frowning girl in confusion.

“Escaping the rain.” With a gesture toward the shop’s front door window, James got her point.

“Ah. Where were you headed?” James said, seeming innocent enough.

“The Three Broomsticks -- we _were_ looking to get drinks.” Sage looked dreamily out the window then back at James who was smiling at his friends.

“You thirsty, Prongs?” Sirius spoke with a grin.

“Quite. What about you, Wormtail, Moony? Fancy a butterbeer?” The four boys quickly forgot what they were doing in Zonko’s. After all, it wasn’t like _they_ had to wait until the next trip to come back - they could just come through one of the secret passageways.

Sage and Wendy shared a look that in itself was a conversation. Sage was totally up for it. Wendy had doubts (mainly about what would happen to her hair when it got wet). Sage reminded her she was a witch, making Wendy smile and agree.

“Do you mind if we tag along?” Sage spoke aloud, directing her words mainly at James. Wendy took out her wand, reviewing what the best spell to protect her from the rain was.

“Not at all.” James took a few steps forward, stopping in front of the door.

He held out his hand for Sage to grab, an invitation to an adventure. He had the air of a Gryffindor. Something about his smirk and his attitude for reckless abandon appealed to Sage and made her feel warm and _brave_. All hesitance fell from her as she reached out and took his hand, a smile appearing on her face as she looked at James. Inside his eyes was a fire only possessed by the students of Godric. He seemed to say, _‘hold on tight’_ before he pulled her out into the pouring rain.  

There is something about being out in rain that feels naughty in a manner both young and innocent. Like a child sneaking a cookie out of a cookie jar - doing something people aren’t supposed to for the thrill and something sweet. They ran, experiencing the cold water, the wind fighting them, the presence of friends, and something in the back of their heads telling them this would be something they, someday, looked back on as pure. Soon enough, they would be adults, graduating, never to return to Hogwarts. It was such an energizing experience and brought a rush of life to those teenagers that you might forget they were on the brink of the biggest war their kind had ever known.

Wendy, protecting her hair with an umbrella spell, watched her best friend’s smile as James pulled her along, and decided in the moment that he was someone she could get behind. The Hufflepuff looked around her and almost began to cry at the rush of emotion she felt. Since last night, she hadn’t been able to get the sight of Sage, bloody and battered, out of her mind. Every time she spoke, all she could hear was the complete and utter fear in her voice from the night before (sure, James had made her feel better, but the second Sage started to recount the night’s events, all reassurances were gone, and she was reminded of the thoughts she’d had in the moment Lucinda was beating her down and seemed as if she wasn’t planning on stopping). But now, as Sage ran with this strange, curious, brave boy, she smiled as if last night never happened.

Wendy glanced at the three other boys, at Sirius’ hold on Remus’ hand as he pulled the scarred boy behind him and Peter who lagged behind. She held out her hand to the chubby boy, felt him grasp onto it, and smiled back at him, struggling to keep up with Sage and James (who would have guessed, someone whose only exercise is rushing to classes is less in shape than two stellar Chasers).

After what seemed like both an eternity and a millisecond but was in actuality about half a minute, the door to the Three Broomsticks swung open. After the influx of teenagers, it slammed shut again, keeping out the chill and keeping in the warm ambiance of the pub. The group shared looks - every one of them was now soaked to the bone.

As James let go of Sage’s hand, she cleared her throat, crossing her arms casually.

“I saw Lucinda this morning.”

James froze, looking at her innocently. “Did you?” he asked, voice seemingly curious.

“Uh-huh.” Sage looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Her new look? The blue skin? Doesn’t flatter her.”

“Poor style choice on her part, I’m sure.” James nodded, closing his eyes in agreement. Sage looked at him, sighing.

“I told you not to do anything, James.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” James shrugged, glancing over at the others in the group. “If Lucinda _happened_ to walk directly under a charm _I had nothing to do with, by the way_ , and became a bright blue colour, that’s got nothing to do with me.”  

Sage gave him a look which made him sigh and continue.

“I really didn’t do anything, Sage.” His voice serious, James looked back at her truthfully. “It was my mates. I don’t have control over what they do.” 

 

This was mostly the truth - James really hadn’t done anything. Sirius, Remus, and Peter snuck out before breakfast. The only input he had was telling them  _ not  _ to turn her skin green as they originally planned. As he explained to the grumbling boys, blue would clash with her eyes and regular skin shade and make her look  _ much  _ worse (as well as it being a poetic revenge - give Sage blue hair, get blue skin). But James figured Sage didn’t need to know this, so he decided on what was mostly true, as he really didn’t have a way of  _ totally  _ stopping his mates.

“To tell you the truth,” Sage uncrossed her arms, putting a hand on her hip, “I’m not mad. It was actually a bit funny.”

“You really think so?” James’ eyes lit up as a grin made its way onto his face.

“Maybe.” Sage huffed, looking over at the others. Wendy had lowered her wand, her hand free from Peter’s.

“I don’t know why I go along with you all,” said Remus, with his well-worn, comfortable clothes sticking to his skin awkwardly. Sirius rolled his eyes and shook his head to get some of the water out of his hair, some of the liquid spraying the lanky boy beside him.

“You love us, Moony.” Sirius’ hair stuck to his forehead in a way that made him look like he had just gotten out of a pool in a movie - it looked perfect.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Oh my!” A barmaid said upon seeing the group. “You’d think you all just went for a dip in the Black Lake!”

“Hello, Rosmerta. Nice day today, isn’t it?” Sirius greeted the woman charmingly as the group used hot-air charms on each other to dry off their clothes. They were then directed to a table. Wendy, Sage, and Remus sat on one side with Peter, James, and Sirius on the other.

“Sure is,” she responded with a laugh. “Now, what’ll you all have?”

Everyone in the group ordered butterbeers, knowing the hot drink would be perfect. When the foaming tankards arrived, Sage looked at the liquid inside hungrily. She took a tiny sip, and instantly the butterscotch-tasting hot drink warmed her body and soul. A look of pure bliss crossed her face.

“There is nothing quite like a hot butterbeer when you’re cold.” Wendy smiled down at her drink, taking a sip and mirroring Sage’s emotions. There were a few murmurs of agreement as the whole group took sips of their drinks.

At the table next to them, a group of four third-years was sat talking. Sage caught a bit of their conversation and smiled as they talked about how great Hogsmeade was. One of them brought up how they had wanted to visit the Shrieking Shack, making Sage curious. 

Peter was staring at something in the distance as he sipped his drink. Sirius had his elbow on the table, his clenched fist supporting his chin. James was running a hand through his (still wet) hair, seemingly deep in thought.

“So,” Sage began, bringing the focus of all people at the table to her. “I wonder, with all the trouble you four get into for going places you aren’t supposed to, have you ever been in the Shrieking Shack?”

The boys shared a look, seemingly at a loss for words. Peter was the one to answer Sage.

“Of course. But we quickly found out that it isn’t very interesting. It’s all mouldy, grimy, run-down. There’s nothing special there - we even spent the night once because we wanted to at least see some ghosts, but all we got out of it was sick.” The chubby boy said cleverly.

“Yeah. I got a nasty spider bite on my back, too. Not fun.” Sirius made a face as if he was reliving the regretful event, seemingly grief-stricken. “Such a shame, it had such promise. Could’ve been someplace we went to get high, but it was more trouble than it’s worth.”

Sage turned her head to look at Wendy beside her, addressing her and saying, “Gryffindors are weird.” The dark-skinned girl nodded in agreement, taking another sip of her butterbeer.

“Weird?” Sirius said, hand on his chest as if he had been deeply offended. “Prongs,” he turned to James with a dramatic flourish, “make her be nice.”

James rolled his eyes, patting Sirius on the back. “It’s alright, Pads. I still love you. We can be weird together.”

“Yeah, because you don’t do that anyways.” Remus grinned at the boys.

“Rude.”

The six of them talked for a while, losing track of time in the process of enjoying each other’s company. After a while, though, one of them looked out the window and noticed the blue sky had returned.

“It stopped raining.” Remus said, cutting James off mid-sentence. The rest of them turned their heads to check if this was true.

“Huh, it has.” Wendy looked at Sage, silently asking her if she wanted to go. She didn’t, really, but she figured by the time they finished walking back to school, it might be time for dinner, and thus they should.

“We should probably be going,” the still-blue-haired girl said, letting out a deep breath. She looked at her empty tankard, then at the boy across from her. When his hair dried, it curled. She liked it.

“Yeah, probably.” James knew this was coming - they couldn’t stay there forever - but he still hated it. “Are we all going to walk together?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Sage after glancing at Wendy.

So the six of them stood, saying their goodbyes to Rosmerta and wishing her well. The conversation from around the table continued, following them as they walked through Hogsmeade and down the path leading back to Hogwarts, smiles on each of their faces.

Along the path, at some point, a conversation between Wendy and James split apart from the one Sage and Sirius were having about dogs (they both agreed - there weren’t enough around Hogwarts). Wendy had mentioned to James something about pens being readily available around the muggle world. For some reason, he had known about the writing tool, but he thought there weren’t a lot of them.

“Yeah, they literally produce them in mass.” 

 

“Really? Huh.” Thoughtful, he looked away. “Interesting.”

 

Wendy bit her lip for a second before she changed the subject rapidly. 

 

“James,” she said suddenly and seriously. “I just… I wanted to thank you. For helping Sage. It… I don’t know what would’ve happened to her if you hadn’t showed up.”

“I couldn’t just not do anything. I mean, I don’t know what I’d do if she wasn’t around.” He mumbled the last part, but Wendy heard it.

“Me too, man.”

“I’ve been _dying_ here! There aren’t enough dogs!” Sage said in front of them, arms moving about dramatically as she had a conversation with a certain black-haired fiend.

Sirius’ grin was stretched from one ear to the other as he responded, “I know!” The dog walked slower to fall back a bit so he could address James, looking the boy deep in his hazel eyes. “There aren’t enough dogs around here.”

“I reckon there are plenty.” James smiled. Sirius gasped in mock offence.

“James Potter, are _you_ calling _me_ , Sirius Black, a _dog_?”

“Seemed like what he was doing, yeah.” Wendy chimed in from the other side of James.

Sirius looked at her, then at James, shocked. He huffed, turning back to Sage who was grinning, but once he looked at her, she gave him a stern look, agreeing with him.

“How rude,” said Sage, “well, I happen to _like_ dogs.” She locked arms with the boy, dragging him ahead.

“ _She likes dogs!_ ” Sirius barked out a laugh. Remus burst out laughing as well, Peter not far behind him.

James tried to hide his smile, attempting to seem mad to no avail. Eventually, he just ended up with a grin on his face. Wendy looked at all the boys and remembered Sage’s words from earlier, deciding to repeat them.

“Gryffindors are _weird_ ,” she said, making it so Sage was laughing while the boys were losing their shit. Yeah, it wasn’t _super_ funny, but it didn’t matter to them - they lost their shit.

The boys had calmed down by the time they all reached the castle, around time for dinner. They parted ways to head back to their respective common rooms before eating. Upon entering the Hufflepuff headquarters, a piece of hair fell into Sage’s face. As she put it behind her ear, she remembered:  

“Ah, shit-- my hair’s still blue.”

“That’s no problem, we can try to find a spell to dye it back and I’ll cast it, you’ll be fine. Brown hair in no time.”

And so, Sage went to Quidditch practice the next day with unnaturally red hair.

  
  


Sage spent the whole week preparing for the weekend’s match against Ravenclaw. Careful not to overwork her team, she encouraged them to work hard and challenge themselves. After many pep-talks and several practices, it was the morning of the game.

She got up early, spending the extra time to calm herself down. She only dressed when she was no longer almost buzzing with excitement, and threw her hair (back to its natural brown, thanks to a kind seventh-year Ravenclaw who was known for their wildly coloured hair) in a ponytail before she headed to the Great Hall.  

People wished her well and gave her luck as she walked to her seat. A few people spoke to her about the weather (it was sprinkling, chilly, and quite windy) before she managed to sit at the Hufflepuff table, planting herself next to one of her Chasers, Kimi Bell, who was a third-year student.

“You’re going to do fine, Kimi. Do you not remember how awesome you’ve been at practice?” Speaking words of comfort, Sage tried to assure Kimmi - this would be her first game.

“What if I die?” said Kimi. “What if a bludger hits the back of my head, or I fall and break my neck?”

“Nobody’s ever died in a Hogwarts match.” Sage put a piece of toast and some eggs onto her plate.

“And? That just means I’ll be the first! We’re due!”

“Kimi.” Sage spoke slow, trying to hide her smile. “Even _if_ you get hit by a bludger, which you probably won’t, considering you’ve got _them_ to look after you,” she pointed to the two boys who had just sat down at the table across from them - her Beaters. “You won’t die. You might drop the ball, which isn’t a big deal.”

“We’ve got your back, Kimi.” Mike Brown, the 6th year beater, reassured the girl, smiling warmly at her.

“Yeah,” said Mike’s 7th year counterpart, Jet Harski. “Everything’s going to be okay.” Kimi blushed (she had quite a crush on Jet) and nodded.

The 13-year-old took a deep breath in. She grabbed an apple and started eating, her nerves settling down. “Everything’ll be okay,” she whispered to herself, making Sage pat her on the back and smile.

Soon enough, it was time for the team to go, so the seven of them left the Great Hall to get to the Quidditch Pitch. Sage fell behind a minute when the Ravenclaw captain, Francis Stokes (7th year, Beater) stopped her. His face flushed, he wished her and her team good luck. Sage smiled (making his heart skip a beat) and returned the well-wishes. She left him behind, running to catch up with her team.

After changing, Sage gathered her team together to go over things one last time and to tell them to do their best and enjoy themselves. They then headed out onto the field, feeling the faint buzz of excitement as they waited for the game to start.

Sage glanced out into the crowd, trying to find Wendy, who had slept in a bit - she knew it was unlikely she’d spot the girl in the mass of people, but she still tried. Scanning people, she saw many blobs she knew was people and stopped on a large banner made of yellow paper. On it, in giant black letters, was “Go Hufflepuff!” There were drawings of various things surrounding the letters, like snitches and plants. Grinning, Sage squinted - if she really tried, she might be able to see who was holding it up. Her grin got wider as she realized that holding up one corner was Wendy - of course. 

The people with her, Sage noticed, had their faces painted, each with half a face yellow and the other black. There were four of them, and hard to identify, but after squinting even harder, she figured it out - they were none other than the Marauders themselves, James Potter seeming to be the most energetic of them all.

Sage felt a rush of excitement run through her, filling her with spirit as she shook hands with Francis, grin still on her face. The referee released the four balls and the game began.

“And there’s Luke O’Hare with the quaffle. He’s heading towards Ravenclaw’s posts… and Donna Norton steals it from him, Ravenclaw is in position… Ooh, that was close- Ryan Cooper almost knocked Sage Charles right off her broom… Charles steals the quaffle from Norton, heads to the other end of the field… a nice pass to rookie Kimi Bell…” Ray Palmer, sports commentator, told the crowd.

“Bell passes back to Charles, close to Ravenclaw’s posts… Myers blocks her the best he can… Charles throws it to Bell again… Bell throws it past Myers, Hufflepuff scores the first goal of the game!” Sage gave Kimi, who looked both euphoric and like she was going to throw up, two thumbs up, mouthing ‘good job!’ to her.

The game continued for a bit, both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw scoring, nothing big happening.

“And at 30-20, Ravenclaw pulls ahead. Hufflepuff is in possession… A bludger from Stokes heads towards Charles-- returned to him by Jet Harski… Terry Young steals the quaffle from Charles… Oh-- Sam Pearson seems to have spotted something! Amos Diggory rushes over… ah, false alarm, folks…  

“Mike Brown hits Young with a well-timed bludger, making him drop the quaffle, but it doesn’t seem to have done much harm… Sage Charles grabs the quaffle, Hufflepuff in possession… is Charles going to-- she’s standing up on her broomstick! She nears the Ravenclaw hoops… She’s leaping-- punching the quaffle into the goal, Myers tries to block-- he’s too late, she’s scored! The score is tied at 30-30.

“Diggory rushes off toward Ravenclaw’s end, Pearson struggling to catch up… a quick turnaround as the snitch heads toward Hufflepuff’s posts… a close call on that bludger almost hitting Pearson, who is now ahead of Diggory… the snitch veers left, Diggory now closer… he’s about to catch it… Amos Diggory catches the snitch! Hufflepuff wins with an end score of 180-30!”

Sage touched down on the ground, running over to Amos and almost crushing him with a hug.

“That was amazing!” She shouted, feeling enchanted by the feeling of the win.

“I was amazing? Did you see what _you did_?!” Amos was shocked.

“Yeah, Sage! That was the best thing I’ve ever seen!” Kimi said, utterly amazed.

“Okay, but you got us our first goal! And you thought you were going to die,” Sage scoffed.

“Um, yeah, I’ve discovered I can never die. Like, it must be impossible for me to feel this great and still be mortal.”

Sage rolled her eyes, turning to tell the rest of the team what a good job they did only to be mobbed by people.

“Sage!” A familiar voice said to her right, making her head turn.

“Wendy!” Sage enveloped her best friend in a hug. Upon pulling away, she saw the Marauders, faces still painted, had been following her. “James! Hey!”

“That was amazing! That dive… I still can’t believe it.” James said excitedly.

“I can’t believe I did it, honestly.” Sage shrugged, still grinning. “Anyways, I love the face paint.”

“Do you? Not to brag, but I did do it myself,” James said, bragging.

“Wow, that’s impressive. More so than what I did, for _sure._ ” Sage laughed as she spoke sarcastically.

“Sage!” Another voice made the girl turn to see the Ravenclaw’s captain, a sad smile on his face. “I just wanted to congratulate you. That was some stellar playing.”

“Thank you, Francis, I appreciate it. You all were really great, too!” Sage smiled as the boy blushed.

“Thanks.” He turned around and left. Amos called Sage over.

“We’re planning on having a bit of a party in the Common Room tonight. You know, nothing big, just the usual, probably some old music.” His words prompted Sage look at Wendy excitedly.

“The Monkees!” The girls spoke in unison, obviously thrilled, causing the Marauders look at each other, confused. Sage turned around to explain to them.

“Wendy and I have a… thing for the Monkees.”

“We love them,” Wendy added. “A sort of throwback, you know. It’s a guilty pleasure of ours.”

“Okay,” said James, laughing. “How did I not know this?”

“Probably because every time we get high and sing and dance along to ‘I’m a Believer’, we’re in either our dorm or our common room.” 

James pouted, “I want to see high Sage sing and dance to the Monkees!”

Sage let out a laugh, patting him on the shoulder. “Maybe someday, James.”

Later that night, when Sage and Wendy went to lay in their beds, Wendy decided to tell Sage a story.

“Did I tell you what James did when you did the… standing-punchy thing?” Wendy said, sitting on her bed, talking to Sage on her own bed.

“You mean the Dionysus Dive? And no,” Sage giggled (she was still pretty high).

“Alright, so as I was screaming about that, I glanced over at him and he was just standing there, like he had dropped the section of the banner he had been holding, he was so spaced out, he’s in shock.” Wendy said humorously.

“I think he might’ve died for a couple seconds, or his soul just... left his body, I don’t know. Anyways, once he returned from Hades or wherever he made this weird sound like he was _trying_ to talk but he forgot what words were. Eventually, he just said ‘I love her’ in shock and Sirius just pat him on his back and said, ‘me too, man.’”

“Not that that is totally justified, but that move was _nice_.” Sage said, laughing. “So, uh… kinda justified, if you ask me. I love me.” And after that, Sage fell over dramatically onto her pillow. She fell asleep instantly, exhausted by the day’s events.


	5. Five

        “Poison. Deadly and elegant, magic or Muggle - poison is something which seems complex, but in all reality, is simple. We’ve discussed this, though - but as we conclude with poisons, we have to speak about _antidotes_ , which is what we will begin today,” Professor Slughorn told his 6th year Potions class, a group of a dozen students from all 4 houses who had gotten a ‘Exceeds Expectations’ or above on their O.W.L.S.

        “Please open your books to page 287,” the professor said, turning to the chalkboard where he had floating chalk ready to write down important information for him.

        James Potter opened his book lazily, most of his attention focused on his right hand that held his quill. He was just finishing up a doodle when he heard a question he knew the answer to.

        “Can anyone describe to me what Golpalott's Third Law tells us?” Slughorn asked the class, prompting the hands of Lily Evans, Severus Snape, and James Potter to raise into the air. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

        James began his explanation, watching Sage out of the corner of his eye. She had turned to watch him (she sat one row up and to the right of him), smiling. As he finished, he turned his head to look at her and gave her a wink. Her cheeks tinted pink and she turned back around.

        “Correct! 10 points to Gryffindor,” Slughorn continued on with his lesson, periodically asking questions and writing things on the board the class copied onto parchment. James sat, bored, but still paid attention - at least, he was paying attention until a scrap of parchment caught his attention by floating by him slowly. It was heading past him, obviously on its way to someone, most likely containing something on it that wasn’t meant for Slughorn to see - the professor was facing the chalkboard. This was a risk, as he could turn around at any point, but for then, he wasn’t paying attention to his class. James sat up, looking around to see who was controlling it.

        It didn’t take him very long to spot Amos Diggory, a table up and to the left, with his wand out, holding it under the table. He kept sending side glances to the paper that was now directly in front of James, otherwise watching Slughorn to ensure the man didn’t turn around and spot him. The black-haired boy took a guess on who the Hufflepuff was sending the note to and immediately whipped his own wand out. He didn’t know exactly why Amos was sending Sage a note, but he knew he didn’t like it.

        Looking as casual as possible, James whispered a spell to bring the note off track, blowing it past Sage and into the trash. Hiding his wand in his sleeve, James glanced at his partner. Remus gave him a look that seemed to ask him ‘really?’ James shrugged, then glanced over to the Hufflepuff boy whose brows were furrowed in confusion. The Gryffindor smirked, successful in his effort.

        Once class finished, though, as James and Remus gathered their things, Amos shoved all his stuff in his bag, and rushed over to talk to Sage. James noticed this, sending Remus a look of desperation. The werewolf sent him one back showing he didn’t know what to do either. James packed his stuff up slowly, so he had an excuse as to why he was eavesdropping on the Hufflepuffs’ conversation.

        “Hey, Sage,” said Amos coolly.

        “Hey, Amos.” Sage was trying to fit her copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ into her bag along with all her extra Quidditch planning stuff ( _it fit earlier!_ ). She ended up having to take out some stuff so she could jam it all back in.

        “So, this Saturday is the next Hogsmeade trip, you going?” Amos asked, making James tense up.

        “I don’t think so, no. Why, are you going?” Sage had closed her bag and now had it slung over her shoulder.

        “I don’t know yet. I was wondering-- do you want to go with me?” The Hufflepuff had a slight blush on his face, sheepishly handsome. James sat awaiting her answer with bated breath.

        “Oh! Er... yeah, sounds groovy,” Sage said, making James’ shoulders slouch in defeat. He quickly stood and rushed out of the room, Remus running after him.

        James spent the next couple days sulking. His 15-year-old self would’ve planned something wild to fuck with the date, totally embarrassing Amos in the process of “winning the girl.” But 16-year-old, more mature version of James knew this wouldn’t work, and he’d just end up pushing Sage away forever. So, he made no plans, preparing to spend Saturday _not thinking about Sage_. At least, he planned this until Sirius burst into the room and gave him an idea.  

 

        Wendy helped Sage pick out an outfit on Saturday morning, a sort-of stylist, telling the girl what would look best on her and what she’d be most comfortable in, seeing as it was the start of December. She ended up going out to the common room in bell-bottom jeans and a yellow sweater. She had her Hufflepuff scarf in her off-the-shoulder bag and her winter coat hung over her arm. In her pocket, coins jingled - her monthly allowance (not very much) on top of the money she’d gotten for her birthday four days ago (30 November).

        Sage spotted Amos over by the fireplace and said goodbye to Wendy who waved before heading out to the library. A nervous hand reached up and fiddled with the necklace she had around her neck as she walked between overstuffed couches to the boy, nodding at a girl the year below she made eye contact with who sat on the floor.

        “Hey, Amos,” Sage said after taking a deep breath. The boy turned to look at her, a smile on his face, hands in his pockets.

        “Hey. Are you ready to go?” he asked. She nodded, so he grabbed his own coat from where it had been thrown over the arm of one of the couches and led her out of the common room.

        Upon reaching the main doors, they both stopped to put on their coats, and Sage her scarf, before heading out into the snow. It was only about 5 centimetres deep, and crunched under their feet as they began the walk to Hogsmeade. As they walked, snow fell in small flurries from the sky, surrounding the two of them in the cold of winter.

        There weren’t that many people out, as it was cold and still a bit earlier than most people left. In front of them by a bit were Marlene McKinnon and Lily Evans, seemingly on their own date. After a comfortable silence for a couple minutes, Amos spoke up.

        “You know what I still can’t believe?”

        “What?”

        “That the Sorting Hat had a hard time placing you. You’re like _the_ most Hufflepuff person ever.” Amos referenced their first year. Sage couldn’t remember all of what the hat said to her, but she remembered that it debated placing her into Slytherin before ultimately placing her into Hufflepuff. She remembered it reference her brother and his tendency to be sly and sneaky - he’d been a Slytherin - but not much else. It had been five years ago, after all.

        “What can I say? I’m an ambitious person.” Sage shrugged, a smile on her face.

        “Yeah, but after you practiced the Patronus charm a million times, we all discovered that your corporeal Patronus is a honey badger,” said Amos, remembering when Sage spent forever just sitting in the Hufflepuff common room trying the spell repeatedly until she eventually procured a silvery animal (the story, in simple terms, went like this: someone told her she couldn’t, and she thrived off spite, using that energy to fuel her persistence. It was _hard_ , but she did it).

        “Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” Sage laughed. Then, thinking she heard something, she looked behind her briefly to spot nothing other than a large, shaggy, black dog following them on the path.

        “Dog!!!” she said, immediately turning back to pet it. Its eyes widened as if it’d been caught (she wasn’t supposed to have noticed). After a quick glance at the nearby woods, the dog started wagging its tail, seeming to decide _ah, fuck it_.

        Sage reached out her hand for the dog to smell, only to have him give her fingers a lick. Grinning, she moved to start petting it.

        “Whose dog is that?” Amos said, staying back as she fell onto her knees as to pet it easier, not caring that her jeans would get snow on their knees.

        “Does it matter?” Sage looked on its neck for a collar, but there was none, so she just kept petting. “I think it’s just a stray. It’s fine, Amos.” As she scratched behind its ear, its eyes closed happily.

        “What if it’s dangerous?” Amos was still wary.

        “We aren’t far away from the castle.” The dog lay down on its side.

        “Does that really look dangerous to you?” She teased Amos as the dog rolled onto its back, tongue hanging out of its mouth.

        “No, you’re a good dog, aren’t you?” She scratched its chin, glancing at Amos who still looked uncomfortable. She sighed and stood, wiping the snow off her pants and smiling down at the dog who had stood as well.

        “Bye, dog.” She smiled sadly, patting its head a couple times before continuing to walk with Amos. She turned her head to see the mass of black fur running off into the forest. For a moment, she thought there was something else among the trees, but she figured it was just a deer.

         They kept walking, talking about various topics until they reached the village which came straight out of a storybook. With the snow creating a blanket, a calm had come over the area. There weren’t many people out, as most prefered to stay inside.

        “Do you want to go to Honeydukes first?” Amos asked, rubbing his hands together and shoving them into his pockets.

        “Yeah, of course.” Sage said, heading to the infamous sweets shop. She swung the door open, ringing the bell above it, walking inside, Amos behind her. She knew exactly what she wanted to get- she had run out of chocolate the other day (a national travesty, honestly) and wanted more.

        She crouched down to get a better look at the row of milk chocolates when a boy walked behind her, looking at the bars to her left. Looking at his ratty boots, she paned up until she’d gotten to a comfortable-looking knitted sweater worn by none other than Remus Lupin.

        “Oh, hey, Remus,” she said, standing up, her arms full of chocolate.

        “Hello, Sage,” he smiled at her, making her do the same. They smiled at each other nicely for a second before Sage turned back to Amos, who had a few chocolate frogs he was going to buy himself. The two of them paid individually and carried their candy to the door, about to walk outside. Sage’s fingers were moving to open the door, fingers just grazing it, when Amos spoke, stopping her.

        “Where are we going next?”

        Sage shrugged.

        “Shouldn’t we decide before we go outside?”

        “Why would we do that? It’s pretty outside.”

        “And cold.”

        “It builds character.”

        “And it smells like chocolate in here.” This caused Sage to freeze, putting her hand under her chin as if she was deep in thought. She let out a dramatic breath as if he was forcing her to do something she didn’t want to.

        “You make a very convincing argument,” she said, looking at him with a smile. “Where do you want to go?”

        “Do you want to get drinks?”

        “Yeah, that sounds nice.” The Scottish girl nodded, looking at him with curious eyes. “The Three Broomsticks?”

        “Erm, I actually-- have you ever been to Madam Puddifoot’s?” He suggested. Sage let out a deep breath.

        “Yeah, actually. I, er, I didn’t really like it very much.” The girl said, remembering the uncomfortable atmosphere of the shop. She didn’t really enjoy seeing teenagers make out as she enjoyed (or tried to enjoy) tea.

        “Oh, okay.” Amos said, “then the Three Broomsticks it is.” He coughed awkwardly upon glancing back at Remus Lupin - the prefect was looking right at him, using intense eye contact. The Hufflepuff turned to the door Sage had just opened, quickly hurried out after her, letting the door slam behind him.

        The couple made their way to the pub, hand-in-hand. They found a table close to a window where they sat, drinking butterbeers and making conversation. After talking about various things, they left. This time, Amos had no way to stop Sage’s want to just hang out outside, so they wandered around a bit. Eventually, they made their way to the Shrieking Shack.

        “This place is so eerily beautiful,” Sage said, staring out at the building. “Especially with the snow. It looks peaceful.” The two of them were alone, as no other people wanted to go out so far in the cold. They stood, Sage leaning against the fence that cut off people from getting closer, the trees and path behind them.

        “Are you having a good time?” asked Amos, worry clogging his handsome features. “I mean, was this a good idea?”

        Sage turned to look at him, placing her hand on his arm comfortingly. “It’s going fine, Amos.” As she spoke, she looked into his blue eyes. There was something in her chest - or maybe in her stomach - that kept tightening, feeling hollow and somewhat warm as he stared back into hers with a small smile on his face. Did she like him? _Had_ this been a good idea? Merlin, she could hardly tell, herself. She certainly had a good time, but was that due to her enjoyment with hanging with friends, or was this something more?

        “You have such pretty green eyes,” he said, leaning forward as if to get a better look. “And those gold specks... I’ve never noticed them before.”

        Amos was leaning closer and closer in to her, very obviously about to kiss her. Sage didn’t have an issue with this - in fact, she was about to close her eyes. This could be a test, she thought, to see if she liked him like _that_ . To see if she _could_ like him like _that._

        But he didn’t kiss her - he pulled back, just as she was closing her eyes, confusing her for a second. Her eyes looked over his, wondering if something was wrong, before she noticed something white on the side of his head - snow. He’d been hit in the head with a snowball.

        The two of them looked to the trees, trying to see who had thrown it but unable to make anything out. Their brows both furrowed, they looked back to each other. Sage prepared to make this better with jokes.

        “That was weird,” she chuckled, uncomfortable.

        “Yeah…” He trailed off as he looked back to the trees, still trying to see who threw it.

        “My first instinct was that it’s Peeves, but we’re so far away from the castle and he wouldn’t be quiet about it.” She chuckled awkwardly again. She took a deep breath in. “So, do you want to start heading back? Or…” She trailed off as he looked back at her.

        “I wanted to ask you something, but--” Amos was cut off by another snowball hurling itself to the side of his face. Sage had to admit- who or whatever was doing this had good aim - it’d hit the exact same spot the last one had. Perhaps this person would join her Quidditch team. She could use some backup Chasers.

        “Who’s there?” Amos called out at the trees, but nothing answered. He took in a deep breath, calming himself.

        “Have you angered any ghosts recently?” Sage tried to lighten the mood. It didn’t really work. “Let’s just go back to the castle.”

        “Yeah, sure.”

        So, the two of them walked back to the castle, going in the opposite direction of most people who had just gone out for the day. They reached the castle, and both took off their winter clothes, walking in silence. Almost to the Hufflepuff common room, Sage remembered his words from earlier and stopped, turning to him.

        “What were you going to ask me?” she asked, remembering the snowballs and what they had interrupted.

        “Oh,” Amos began, “I wanted to ask if you wanted to be my girlfriend.” He had an anxious look on his face, making Sage feel bad. It was then, in that moment, when she realized the extent of her liking him stopped right when it came to romance. Poor Amos.

        “Oh!” Looking at the wall behind him, she pursed her lips, her eyes wide. This sucked. “I’m… I think I’m going to have to say no, actually.” Sage cringed and avoided looking at him.

        “Er, okay, I guess.” He turned away from her, voice hard and shoulders stiff.

        “Erm-- I’m sorry, Amos.” His face was expressionless, something that made her feel even worse.

        “It’s okay, I’m, uh-- I’m going to go…” The boy turned around, heading in the opposite direction as their common room.

         “Uh, bye?” Watching as he hurried away and turned a random corner, Sage let out a deep breath. She started walking again after a couple of seconds, wanting to tell Wendy everything that had happened.

        Upon entering the common room, Sage spotted her best friend sitting in one of the big armchairs. Wendy was totally engulfed in a knitted blanket, a mug of some hot drink in her hand and a book on her lap. Saying nothing, Sage threw her coat and bag on the table beside Wendy and collapsed onto the couch across from her, face-down on a pillow.

        After Sage’s quiet, muffled screams into the pillow stopped, Wendy took a sip of her drink, smacking her lips before saying, “how’d it go?”

        Sage took her head off the pillow and turned onto her side, elbow supporting her head as she looked at Wendy in a way that made the girl stand up and drag her best friend to their dorm room to tell her everything.

 

        The next Monday, from the minute Sage walked out of her dorm room, she had to avoid Amos. He wasn’t actively pursuing her, but because they were in the same house and the same year… it was hard to get away from him. And it wasn’t like she could _talk_ to him. At least, not _yet_. It was too painful. During Charms, Sage spent the whole class staring straight at her notes just so she wouldn’t accidentally look at him (and possibly make eye contact - ugh, she’d rather _die_ ).

        James, who hadn’t seen Sage utterly reject Amos, was still sulking. In Sage’s staring-at-her-notes state, there was no threat of her catching him staring - which she could’ve done at literally any point, as he stared at her _all class_. He was sighing, too, as he stared at her longingly, to the point where Sirius had told him to “shut up or leave.” James had hit his mate, but stopped the sighs either way. It didn’t take him long to notice how awkward she obviously felt, and he swore to himself he was going to ask her what was wrong. At the very least, he could get more information out of her about her weekend, find out how it all went in the end, and _talk to her_.

        After Flitwick allowed them all to start packing up, James shoved his stuff in his bag and rushed over to Sage. As she put her things in her own bag, James ran a hand through his hair, relaxing his posture to look chill. She hadn’t noticed him yet, giving him a chance to perfect his cool look.

        “So, how was your weekend?” he asked finally, though he already knew the answer (he was sure she and Amos had ended up deciding to marry each other or something - a theory he shared with his mates, earning him eye-rolls and several tired and breathy “ _James_ ”s) and felt immediate regret over asking it. He just _knew_ she would totally end up saying how great Amos was. Sage’s head snapped to look at him. Beside her, Wendy started slipping away to give the two alone time.

        “Oh, uh-” Sage blushed, “it was… eventful.”

        “Everything okay? You seem, er, _off,_ today,” he said, trying to seem both concerned and cool at the same time, praying she didn’t think he had been creepily staring at her or something. Yes, he _had_ been staring, but that was _different_.

        In all honesty, James felt a little bad - he knew stalking her was the wrong thing to do (even while he was doing it) and the more he thought about it, the guiltier he felt. It was gross and territorial, not to mention a huge invasion of privacy. He should’ve left her alone - she should be allowed to go on dates and do whatever she wanted without him. He really fucked up, no matter how much he tried to rationalize it and excuse his actions to himself. But he still wasn’t going to tell her - and though he claimed this was to protect her ( _surely she’d feel unsafe - like anyone could be watching her all the time_ ), he knew he was still in the wrong and his actions were inexcusable. He didn’t want their relationship to be like this - if they had one at all.

        “Yeah… it’s just… something, uh, _happened_ with me and Amos and it’s super awkward now.” She stood, staring at the ground, her face red.

         “Something bad?” He was actually confused now. A million thoughts crowded his head as he imagined the worst.

        “I mean, not _really_ , but… I don’t want to bother you,” Sage started to walk to the door as she spoke, still avoiding James’ gaze.

        “You’re never a bother, Sage,” James said this in a way which made her finally shift her eyes up and at him. Surprised by how calm she felt, Sage looked at James’ hazel eyes, eyes that seemingly contained an entire universe inside them ( _how cheesy_ , she thought, criticizing herself, _he’s just a guy, Sage, and his eyes are pretty, but come_ on). It was as if his glasses were the only thing protecting her and the whole world from getting sucked in ( _ugh_ ).

        “Oh,” was all she managed to say, still staring at the handsome boy. After a second, she snapped out of her trance and spoke again. “Um, well, he wanted to be something more and I, uh, I told him no.”

        James felt like his brain had exploded into fireworks for two weeks.


	6. Six

The Saturday before Christmas, Sage and Wendy took a well-needed break by visiting Hogsmeade. The past two weeks had been quite crazy, after Lucinda started bothering Sage again, causing Sage’s stand-offish side to shine. There hadn’t been any fights, but nearly every time they saw each other, the two exchanged insults (from Lucinda, “your name in French means ‘wise’, which is funny because you’re such an idiot.” and from Sage, “with your last name, I expected you to ‘talk a lot’, but you really have a big mouth, don’t you?”) and glares.

So Wendy and Sage headed down to the picturesque village, bundled up in coats and matching Hufflepuff scarves, ready to unwind and purchase Christmas presents. After trudging through the snow, bonding over freezing, they reached it. Sage always loved Hogsmeade, and it during Christmas was a real treat.

It was always decorated for the season, wreaths on all the doors only the tip of the Christmas iceberg. Fairy lights hung on the borders of shops, yellow glow shining even in the daylight. The air had a warmth to it despite it being so cold, making the girls feel a kind of high that was only heightened as they walked around and went into places. As shops were decorated inside as well, the girls felt the holiday spirit the whole time they were out.

“No, really, Sage. I’m staying,” Wendy said as the girls enjoyed two hot butterbeers in the Three Broomsticks. This was an argument they’d been having for the past week, and she was _done_ with it, but of _course_ Sage had to be stubborn.

“Dream on, Wendy. You’ve been so excited about this Christmas, and your grandma is getting really old, you should spend time with her. We already decided this.” Sage took a sip out of the tankard in front of her, making her feel a warm wave through her body.

“That was before August told you you couldn’t spend Christmas with him!” Wendy groaned, annoyed. Sage’s brother had planned on Sage staying with him over the break, but despite his efforts, he just… _couldn’t have her_. Sage had been devastated, but she understood. He was living in a tiny flat in France with barely enough room for himself (they were planning on using Floo powder to talk on Christmas, though-- the wizarding cafe he worked in was connected to the network and he had gotten permission to use it). Wendy, who had immediately decided to stay back with her best friend, was hitting a wall as she experienced the stubborn side of Sage she had seen many-a-time before.

“Wendy, you’re going. If I have to force you onto the train, I will.” Wendy opened her mouth to protest, but Sage stopped her before she could start again. “And you _already_ asked your mum if I could stay with you, she said no. You’re going home, I’m staying.”

“You’ll be alone! On Christmas!”

“There are other kids staying,” Sage shrugged. This conversation continued for some time until they’d mutually decided to pick up the topic later, as then they were trying to enjoy themselves and getting much too upset. 

 “So…” said Wendy, trying to think of another topic to talk about. “What about Amos? You haven’t really spoken to him since--”

 “Oh, would you look at that?! I’m out of butterbeer! Oh, and you are, too! Well, we might as well get going, no reason to stay here! Hey, why don’t we go out to the Shrieking Shack? It’s so pretty when it’s snowy, and there’s probably, like, nobody there!” Sage laughed awkwardly, standing suddenly and grabbing Wendy’s arm as the poor girl tried to finish off the little bit of butterbeer still in her tankard. Wendy snorted as Sage pulled her out of her seat, outside of the pub, and onto the street. 

 “Sage, oh my god, please--” said Wendy, trying not to laugh at her friend’s red face. She bit her lip and said finally, “alright, we won’t talk about… _that_. We can talk about… ooh, do you see that girl’s pants? I love that colour, such a pretty red.”

 “Ooh, they sure are. Look thin, though - see how they move? I’m betting that fabric isn’t giving her much more warmth than shorts do.” 

 “You’re right - I have this pair of shorts I wanted to wear this summer, but I didn’t get the chance to, and now… well, I’m dying in these thick pants and a parka, so you can imagine how much I’d die if I tried.”

 “Okay, valid point, and I feel for you, I really do, but I just… I dunno, I thought about the word ‘shorts’ and… I have… an _issue_.”

 “What, you mean how it’s a lazy word to describe how pants are? Just, like, pants are ‘longs’ and when you chop off the legs, tah-dah, you’ve got ‘shorts.’ Yeah, that’s dumb. I mean, like, you get a good idea about what they are, but, like, _really_?” 

“Exactly. It’s like, they might as well be called not-pants.” This _tantalizing_ conversation occurred as the two girls walked down the path to the area outside of the Shack people could go. 

“Honestly, I don’t know why people didn’t care enough to create a new word. Like, you do it for all other new things that were only just invented, so why not with this? Like, give them some dude’s last name or something,” Wendy responded to Sage, sounding aggressively like a teenage girl, while they fell off the path, reaching the Shack’s viewing point. 

“What _are_ you two _talking_ about?” A bewildered voice spoke from their right. The girls, who hadn’t noticed they weren’t alone, looked over at whoever spoke, checking their surroundings. 

“‘Shorts’ is a bad name for shorts,” Sage told Sirius Black, the one who had spoken, who was bundled up in a leather jacket.

The boy seemed as if he was going to say something, and opened his mouth only to close it again and make a ‘you’re not _wrong_ ’ expression. He seemed to give up and moved to stand near his friends. Peter leaned against a tree, Remus stood behind James, who was leaning on the fence. All of them wore some type of coat and Gryffindor scarves.

“How are you all on this fine afternoon?” Wendy asked the group of troublemakers.

“Eh, alright,” Sirius said, covering the rest of their answers.

“Oh!” Sage said excitedly, remembering something. She turned to Sirius specifically, “I forgot to tell you-- I saw a dog the other day!”

“No way!” Sirius’ face broke out in a grin.

“Yeah! It was awesome-- I got to pet it, it was the best. Made my year, honestly. 1976 is saved, thanks to that dog.” Sage said dreamily, unknowingly making all the Marauders die a bit from holding in their laughter.

“I love him already. He sounds great. How about you tell me how amazing this dog was whil--” Sirius was cut off by James, who spoke and gave his friend a look.

“Or… I think we can all deduce the dog was great,” said James, stepping closer to Sage. He turned to her, cleared his throat, and asked, “how is your day going?”

Behind her, Wendy started to slip away again, while signalling to the other 3 boys to join her and leave the two alone. She had a sort-of sixth sense that let her know when the optimal time to leave two people (or more) to allow them a ‘moment.’

“Pretty great. I love Hogsmeade this time of year, don’t you?” Sage gave James a soft smile as she moved closer to him until they both stood next to the fence. 

“Yeah, the holidays and the snow… everything is cold but beautiful.” They each took steps closer, neither realizing their friends had gone but both aware this conversation was just theirs. They were alone and standing close to each other, smiling at the other, both feeling cold and fluttery.

“So, are you looking forward to break? You’re going home, right?” James’ breath came out in smoky puffs and mixed with hers before it swirled in the air above them.

“I’m excited, yeah, but I have to stay at school. I was going to go home, but… my home’s kinda travelling right now.” Sage’s smile turned sad for a second, but she brought the light back. “What about you? Are you going or staying?”

“Oh, the Marauders and I are all staying.” Attempts to calm his heart did nothing for James - he was so _close_ to her, and she was so _cute_. Nothing like Lily - he couldn’t fuck this up by chasing her away, he had to do this right. Lily was amazing, sure, and _fuck_ , he’d been so enamoured with her (he planned their wedding, poorly, when they were thirteen). 

They stood in silence for a second, their breaths releasing in clouds, the cold air chilling their bodies. Sage’s cheeks blushed from both her heart beating heavy and the cold. Snow fell around them silently, surrounding them with a festive and precious feeling. Sage and James’ smiles both fell - they were too focused on each other to think about their own happiness - as they stared deeply into each other’s eyes, noticing things for the first time.

Time seemed to slow, and flurries of snow hung in the air much like a freshly-shaken snow globe. The air around them swirled with the cold air, snowflakes, and something which called to the feeling of something just beginning, a brand-new adventure. Sage’s heart beat 500 times its normal rate, and she didn’t blame it. James’ eyes studied her face close enough for him to notice the gold flecks Amos had mentioned, as well as the freckles faintly scattered across her tanned skin, around her nose.

They both kept silent, the absence of their words and the silence of winter melding together. Inching closer and closer together, they could feel each other’s breath on their lips. Before they met, they stopped. James savoured the moment, telling himself how much needed to make sure he would remember this. This moment, where he was right on the edge, about to finally dive in. His stomach lurched in anticipation, telling him to go for it - to _do it_. Teetering on the edge, he looked at what he was leaping into and forgot to feel cold - this is all he wanted to do. To think about. Forever. 

 Sage, on the other hand, knew there was _no way_ she would be forgetting this anytime soon -  she was centimetres away from _James Potter’s lips_. She’d kissed a few people before, but this… he was _popular_! He was a cool kid! Charming, in the way only popular jocks could manage. He was so… _attractive_ , and so _close_. His face was right next to hers, and unlike only weeks before, when she had been in this exact place about to kiss someone else, she wasn’t uncertain. Before, it was a test to see if she liked him, but this? This was no kind of test - she could _tell_ she liked him, and _damn_ she _wanted_ to kiss him. So much so that she was worried he wouldn’t want her to. 

        But then, with his eyes flickering from her lips to her eyes, he spoke softly, “can I kiss you?” and Sage almost melted into the snow around them - her heart certainly did, turning into a thick liquid in her chest. 

 “If--” Sage stopped herself and let out a sigh, smiling for a second as she told him, breathy and fluttery, “yeah.” 

 James didn’t wait long before he moved closer to her as she did the same, letting their mouths come together. 

 They pulled apart slightly and adjusted before coming back together, their hands moving onto each other. Sage had one on the back of his head and the other on his chest, both grabbing lightly at whatever they could - grasping at his shirt and winding in his hair. James moved one onto her side while the other caressed her face. 

 This was nice. This was _really_ nice. They kissed intensely and emotionally, lips tingling, sensitive against the other’s, as they drank in each other. This was _really, really nice_. Sage could do this for a while - it was exactly how she imagined it would be. His confidence had made her think it would be nice and her experience with first kisses let her know it would still be somewhat awkward. 

        Merlin, this was  _ nice _ . The minute before, she had a few doubts, mostly centered around how it had been, what, two, three months since he actually talked to her? Every day, they saw each other in classes and smiled at each other - sometimes, they’d say something, and then they might laugh (sometimes, if they made eye contact in class, he’d make a funny gesture to convey his feelings about the class that’d make her giggle silently. Mainly, it was in Potions and an eye roll) - but it’d still been a small amount of time. But  _ damn _ , as she kissed him, she didn’t fucking care. Two, three months wasn’t really  _ that _ short. 

       They pulled away again, this time freezing a centimeter from each other, catching their breath. Hearts beating heavy, they were both imbued with new life.

“We should probably go find our friends,” said Sage, still breathless. James said nothing and simply nodded, a grin on his face Sage felt resembled how he looked when he’d won a Quidditch match. The two of them took their hands away from each other and stepped back, eyes not moving from their stares, stuck on the person in front of them. 

        Downright giddy, James was unable to stop grinning, even as they began to walk back towards Hogsmeade. Following the path, neither spoke a word, creating a silence which was confusing, awkward, and comforting all at the same time. 

The path ended and they turned a corner, revealing to them the four people who had left quietly. They spoke to each other, a nice conversation among themselves that came to a halt as Sage and James approached.

“Did you two _just now_ notice we were gone?” Remus was the first to address the blushing pair. James’ demeanour changed and his grin shifted into a smirk as he walked forward and pat the other boy on his back.

“Of course not, Moony. We were, er, a bit busy.” He said, face hot as he sent Sage a wink.

“Yeah, but now we’re cold, so…” Sage trailed off, interlocking her arm with Wendy’s. The dark-skinned girl looked at her friend curiously.

“So, what happened?” Sirius asked, making James glance at Sage, who shrugged. The minute she and Wendy returned to their dorm (or just away from the boys), she’d spill, but for the moment, she could only blush.

“I’ll tell you later, Pads. Let’s head back.” James didn’t wait for a response before walking ahead. The group looked at each other, shrugged, and followed him. Wendy and Sage walked together behind everyone else, where Wendy elbowed her best friend in the stomach and gave her a look she would’ve been unable to had they been visible to the boys. Sage smirked and said nothing, her stomach fluttering as she was teased. Today had been _nice_.

  
  
  


On December 21st, every student going home for the holidays left on a train bound for London. Sage was not one of them - like a handful of others, she was staying at Hogwarts over the break, and while there were a fair many staying back (many parents had decided, as the war got worse, that letting their children stay at school was safer than bringing them home), she was already quite alone. This was because, despite the fight she’d put up, Wendy left - it was either that or have her belongings show up in London without her, as Sage had snuck the girl’s trunk aboard. Wendy was usually the one to keep Sage company - of course, they had other friends, but this was _Wendy_. Sage would live, and honestly would benefit from the alone time (even the walk back from the train station had given her time to think, something which turned out to be quite therapeutic). 

But alone time, at a certain point, was just awkward and boring - like sitting by herself at lunch - a little weird. So when she walked back into the castle (very cold and covered in snow - it’d started snowing again while she walked) and headed to get lunch, she didn’t sit at her usual spot, where she would end up alone, and instead choose to accept the invitation to sit with two Ravenclaws a year below and a pair of seventh years, a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw. The company wasn’t her _favourite_ , but they were all nice and she found herself somewhat enjoying the conversation she had with Francis Stokes, the older Ravenclaw (he was his house’s Quidditch captain and had a crush on Sage he’d never act on) while she ate a sandwich.

 It was a conversation some may find boring, but the two of them were into Quidditch, so it wasn’t horrible for either of them. Francis brought up a Quaffle-making company he loved and gushed about how much he adored the specific characteristics of their balls. Sage found it sweet how much he lit up when talking about the seams of a Quaffle and quality gripping charms, and nodded along while occasionally biting into her sandwich. 

 “And of course, you can’t have a Quaffle that’s too heavy, as well as casting those floating charms on them so they fall slower, so what they do, and I’ve noticed this as I threw one of mine around a while ago, is they fill them with phoenix feathers! Naturally shed feathers, of course - and they’re just using the fluff, not the quill and such. It gives them a nice, natural float that just... ah, it’s just spectacular.”

 “So you have a few of these? Their Quaffles, I mean.” Sage smiled at Francis as he nodded.

 “Yeah! I actually have, I think, about... twelve, maybe thirteen,” said Francis, staring into space. His words caused Sage’s jaw to drop as she sat, shocked at this number. 

        “ _ Thirteen _ ?” she asked, amazed.“Are you serious?” 

“He isn’t, but I am,” responded Sirius Black as he sat down next to Sage, grinning (he thought himself a master of comedy). Francis frowned at this development but said nothing, his upset unnoticed by both Sirius and Sage.

        “Oh, ha, ha, Sirius.” Grinning, Sage looked behind them, expecting to see his friends following him. There was nobody with him, though, causing Sage’s lips to fall slightly. 

 “Is James with you?” she asked, surprised at how disappointed she sounded. 

 “Oh, so you can’t just be happy to see me?” Sirius scoffed, “James is off doing something. And here I was, thinking we were friends.” 

 “Shut up,” said Sage, blushing, as Sirius leaned into the table, placing both his elbows atop it in a move that would’ve infuriated his grandmother and other such ancestors. Good. 

 “Where’s Wendy? She with you?” asked Sirius, reaching to grab the last of Sage’s sandwich. As it wasn’t much, she made no effort to stop him, and simply rolled her eyes. 

 “Oh, so _you_ can’t be happy to just see _me_?” Sage placed her hand on her chest, over her heart, overdramatically, feigning offence. She hid her smile by forcing herself to look shocked - if he could be dramatic, so could she (and she was living for this playful banter - it really was lighting up her day even though there’d been so little of it). 

 Sirius narrowed his eyes at her, a sober frown on his lips. He hummed, then, “touché.”

 Letting go of her serious façade, Sage smiled and let a heavy breath fall from her nostrils, a not-chuckle, before she cleared her throat and told him, “Wendy went home.”

 “What, for the holidays?” Sirius’ frown went from playfully dramatic to real, something which made Sage worry what he was thinking - did he think Wendy had just abandoned her? He probably thought her a pretty terrible friend. Sage couldn’t have this. 

 “Yeah,” she said, quickly adding more to defend her best friend. “I forced her to, actually. She wanted to stay, but I knew how much she should go home - she’d been looking forward to this for so long, I couldn’t let her stay here when I knew how much better it would be for her to go. I may or may not’ve thrown her things onto the train so she had no choice.”

 Sirius made a noise, a cross between a grunt and a hum. “Well, alright, I guess. Too late to change anything now, innit?”

 “Sure is.” Sage nodded, then decided to change the subject of their conversation, leading them to sit there for quite some time. The rest of the group - the three Ravenclaws and Slytherin - were included for a decent while, but ended up leaving the conversation and the Hall soon enough (Sirius’ question of, “why stop at Capitalism? Destroy everything,” seemed to be just a tad too much for them, as they mostly ended up leaving once he’d said it). 

 Sage only decided to end their conversation when she’d almost died of laughter at a story he told her, as he was a master storyteller (absolutely _hilarious_ ) and his story was _funny_ (at one point toward the end, he told her, “I wanted to know if it was still good or not - because, you know, it didn’t look all that terrible - before I tried it, but the only way I could think to do so was by _trying_ it, so I down the whole bottle, decide that it was indeed no longer fit for human consumption, and I’m holding this empty bottle in my hands, right? So I start _feeling_ it, you know - I’m getting dizzy, starting to feel like I’m buzzing, and I look down at the bottle, notice something on the bottom of it, like someone had written on it. I turn the thing upside-down and I look at the words, and for some reason I just knew it was going to _tell me something_ , like this line of text was going to tell me the secrets to the goddamn universe. This was going to _change_ my _life_ , Sage, I swear. So I look at the bottom of the bottle, I start reading it, and I fucking _wake up_ in my bed without knowing how I got there, as a second ago I was in the Astronomy Tower. But I’m in the worst shape of my life, ready to die because of how sick I’m feeling, and I have this bucket next to me  I’ve apparently already thrown up into. And, Sage, let me tell you, I never fucking found out what that bottle said, and that was the worst day of my whole life. I threw up everything - including my memories.”)

 

 The second day of holiday break was nice. Sage planned it out nicely - she would visit the greenhouses, check up on all the plants, and when she was done, she’d go into the kitchens to grab something hot (she’d need warmed up after being outside!) and bring it back to the common room, where she’d curl up with a book, her drink, and someone’s cat. It sounded pleasant and calm, a wonderful kind of quaint that was sure to help her relax after a semester of school work.

        The greenhouses themselves weren’t cold - it was the journey to and from that got her, really. She hurried from the chilly halls of the castle, trudging through the deep snow before entering the right greenhouse. She struggled to get the door open, as it got stuck on snow, but when she entered, the minutes she’d spent outside were made up for. The door closed behind her, and she stomped on the ground to get off the snow before it melted into her clothes (she couldn’t even  _ imagine _ going out there in wet clothes), shaking her head free of white flurries. 

 Heat surrounded her, the greenhouse a safe haven from the bitter cold, as she took off her coat, hanging it on a rack and pushing up her sweater sleeves as the snow on the floor turned into puddles. With the wetness on the floor the only sign of anything cold, Sage walked forward, dragonhide gloves shoved in her pocket, ready to be put on at any moment. For the first few things, though, she didn’t need gloves - she could touch leaves of the pirabiscus plant between her fingertips, feeling the grooves of the leaf, her gentle touch causing the leaves to change, shivering as they went from dark orange to deep green. 

        Sage was incredibly warm as she moved onto the yirka plant, a branch cut from a larger bush that had been repotted. It was doing well, she noticed as her fingers gently took its leaf between them. She gave the leaf a small shake, the equivalent of shaking a person’s hand, that caused the plant to shiver up its base. As it shivered, it came open. A few of the leaves moved, turning upside-down and rolling up before changing colour and shape until they were no longer leaves, but flowers. The flowers moved to Sage, giggling as she continued to touch the leaf gently. She gave it another shake (telling the flowers how lovely they looked) and let go, moving on.

 This went on for quite some time - much longer than it needed to, actually, as Sage was enjoying the heat of the greenhouse. One look outside was enough to make her re-pot something she’d already just repotted or double (and triple) check the gerutous plant was doing okay. 

 But all things must end - she knew. Still, she was incredibly unhappy as she unrolled her sleeves and put her coat back on. As she fastened the coat, she looked out at the white world outside and grumbled. 

        And before she left, Sage turned around to sigh wistfully and tell the greenhouse how much she loved and appreciated it ( _ not _ something she did just to stall more. Not at all). She faced the door again, sighed, and opened it, letting in a wave of chill as she walked outside, closing the door behind her, wasting no time in looking back at the inside longingly - she was fucking freezing and would just remember how warmth felt. Looking back would mean spending an extra second in  _ this. _

 Sage tried not to be too bitter as she stomped back to the castle, knowing that no matter what, it wouldn’t be as warm as the greenhouses. The corridors would be cold, and she’d _suffer_. But whatever - she could deal with chills - it was just the _freezing_ of outside, the biting cold which shoved tiny knives in her face, that bothered her. 

 Entering the castle again, Sage stomped around as she walked, leaving a trail of shaken-off snow behind her everywhere she went. Luckily for her, after a while, the snow stopped falling and she was no longer able to be tracked (she could just _hear_ Filch telling her she should hang by her ankles in the dungeon for tracking in snow. It was _water_. He’d get over it). She walked nicer now, no longer stomping, as she moved down stairs, finding herself outside of a familiar fruity portrait. 

 Tickling the pear, Sage began to take off her coat as she walked into the kitchens, leaving her in her sweater as she smiled at the house elf who rushed up to greet her. Asking for a hot cocoa, Sage draped her coat over her arm as she waited - only for a moment - before the elf returned with a mug. She was warned that her drink was very hot as she took it into her hands, transferring it to one of them and thanking the elf before she turned to leave. 

Sage’s free hand reached out to grab the door’s handle, her cocoa in front of her, fingertips touching the cold metal just as the door swung open and someone came through the doorway, causing her to spill the hot drink all over her front. Sage hissed and moved quickly to hold her sweater away from her skin and try to not get burnt. Luckily, the hot liquid hadn’t succeeded in doing so.

“Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry!” A flustered James Potter panicked in front of her. Sage said nothing and only shoved her coat and now-empty mug into his chest until he understood she wanted him to take them. Handing them off to him so her arms were free, this allowed her to take off her sweater. Thankfully, she’d worn a shirt underneath the sweater, though it was short-sleeved and didn’t do much to protect from cold. 

As she worked quickly, James continued blubbering further apologies, now with a hot face. “Merlin, Sage, I’m so, _so_ sorry.”.

“It’s okay, James,” said Sage, only mildly annoyed as she took the mug and her coat back, placing the former onto a counter close to the door and holding the latter in her arms. “You didn’t mean to.”

“Are you cold?” Noticing how she hugged her arms close to herself, James decided without a moment’s hesitation to take off his own sweater, one coloured scarlet and gold, and hand to it her. He had another, long-sleeved shirt on underneath it.

“Your Quidditch sweater?” Sage questioned, eyeing the garment wearily. James nodded and motioned for her to put it on. She huffed and decided to comply, pulling it over her head. She recognized one of the smells embedded in the fabric as the scent of a freshly polished broomstick handle. The other, she knew because of her brother, was musk. Somehow, it also smelled burnt. The kind of smell wood gives off when it’s burnt, she realized (perhaps James had spent a lot of time next to a fireplace).  

“Thank you, James,” Sage said, as sincere as possible. This was the first time since Saturday they had really spoken alone. Sage felt the same butterflies in her stomach she did then, and was suddenly very aware of how close she was to him. Was he this nervous, too? “I’ll try to get it back to you soon.”

“You can keep it. I have a couple of the same one, I’ll be fine,” James waved her off, changing the subject. “Sirius told me you’re going to be alone on Christmas.”

“Yeah, I guess. I’ll probably just hang out with the other Hufflepuffs staying.” Sage imagined opening presents on Christmas morning with them all, a set of twins the year below, a pair of best friends in their 2nd year, and a broody 7th year she’d never spoken to but didn’t seem to click with.  

James looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Do you want to spend it with them?”

“I mean, it’s not _ideal_ , but…” Sage shrugged.

“You could always spend it with me and the Marauders,” James said, trying to seem nonchalant when really, his heart was beating like crazy.

“Oh, James, I couldn’t possibly--”

“No, really, Sage. I’ve, er, I’ve already asked the lads-- they’re fine with it. In fact, I was hoping you’d hang out with all of us over break sometimes.” James’ face flushed hot, but his skin was too dark for Sage to tell he was blushing.

 “Are… are you _sure_?” Sage couldn’t help asking again - in all honesty, she really wanted to spend the holiday with them (she was sure it would be a blast), but doing so was such an intrusion.

        “Really, Sage, I want you to.” 

 Sage forced herself to stop, no matter how much she wanted to say, “ _but are you sure you’re sure?_ ” and let out a breath, smiling at him as she agreed, “well, then, I’d love to.”

 James let out a breathy laugh, grinning at her, “awesome.”

 The two of them were happy as they planned the day - she would go up to Gryffindor in the morning and open presents with them. Once that was settled, they changed subjects, and spoke for a few more minutes (usually, doing something observers would describe as _flirting_ and they would claim, blushingly, it was so, totally _not_ ) before parting ways, sharing breathy, “ _bye_ ”s. 

 As soon as she entered the Hufflepuff basement, Sage collapsed on a couch. A smile was seemingly permanently stuck on her face as she brought James’ sweater to her nose, inhaling his smell (while swearing it wasn’t creepy to do so). The combination of the warm room, calm feeling, and her exhaustion from all her activity earlier that day made Sage fell asleep on the overstuffed black couch.


	7. Seven

             Christmas Eve was cold and light. The day itself was slow, a day to stay inside and hang by a fire while snow fell outside - picturesque scenes lay outside every window. The _eve_ of the day was different though, as, yes, it was light, but in a manner beyond the physical. It was dark and warm - the sun went down just as spirits began to rise.

            Sage ate her dinner with the Marauders and really enjoyed herself - she was having a great time, but still worried that she was intruding, and stepping out of line. Though, as it turned out, her worry over being a trouble dulled as she got into their conversations and was too busy enjoying herself to worry. All four of them were absolutely hilarious and just stellar company, and they welcomed Sage in as one of them with no issue, something else that made her feel better.

            But a lesson the Hufflepuff had learned long ago rang true once more - all good things must end, and this was one of them.

             “I should probably be heading back to my dorm sometime soon…” she trailed off, looking away from them all as she picked at the dirt under her fingernails (she could’ve sworn she’d gotten it all out earlier).

             “Why don’t you come up to Gryffindor with us? We can all hang out and… I dunno.” James suggested from across the table, shrugging at the end.

             Sage thought for a second before she agreed, finding no issue with this. “I guess, sure.”

             So the five of them walked up to Gryffindor Tower, joking and smiling all the way to the portrait, where Peter said the password (“gillywater”) and they all entered.

             Enveloped in warmth physically and mentally, Sage plopped down onto one of the many couches, close to the fireplace in which a fire quietly crackled. As she practically melted into the couch, James sat down next to her and Sirius next to him. Remus and Peter sat in armchairs on either side of the couch.

             The Gryffindor common room was probably the cosiest room in the entire castle (behind the Hufflepuff Common room, of course), a place anyone could come to feel safe. The air in the room was electric and warm, both resembling a grandmother’s house and a teenager’s bedroom. It wasn’t hard to understand the connection between the excited energy and those who lived there - it truly was the home of the Gryffindor spirit.

             The couches and furniture were all well-worn, their surfaces covered in scratches. Sage adored this, as she liked to look at them and imagine what happened to create them - did someone drag a fingernail across the arm of the couch? Was someone’s quill accidentally the creator of the grooves in the leather? Every single mark had a story, and surely some of them dated back to hundreds of years ago. But as much as Sage wished she knew every one of them, it was impossible. Was she to make a mark on one of these couches? Would someone see it in 20 years and wonder who the person who made it was? Sage wished she could tell them.

             The common room itself wasn’t very different from the last time she had seen it, minus the Christmas decorations and the gigantic Evergreen between the staircases to the girl’s and boy’s dorms. The tree had at least 300 ornaments on it, many of which were moving or lighting up, some making quiet noises (she particularly liked one that was the figure of a boy on a broom that rode around the tree in a spiral).

             “Would it be bad if I fell asleep in here?” Sage watched the fire dance, its heat hitting her and making her brain feel fuzzy.

             “Eh,” Sirius said, sitting up suddenly and bending forward so he could see and address Sage. “Anyway, you were talking about that band - The Sex Pistols?” The boy was excited based on what Sage had told him already (and their name, because come _on_ ).

             “Yeah, they’re basically the best.” Smirking, Sage continued on about the band, letting him know several fun facts, every one of which he held onto while he fell more and more in love. It was when she finally ran out of things to tell him when Sirius decided to show her the Gryffindors’ music setup - a record player in the corner enchanted to only be audible to the people who wanted to hear it. As Sirius showed her the multitude of records out for anyone to use, Peter went up to bed. Soon after, when Sirius’d moved onto his private records, Remus ascended the mahogany staircase as well (“I’m going to take a bath, don’t wait up.”)

            The two were missed but not too much, as the three remaining people listened to music for a decent amount of time, before Sirius yawned overdramatically and went upstairs, too. This most certainly wasn’t a ploy to get the two of them to ‘talk’. Not at all. Sirius, who was known to fall asleep at no earlier than three in the morning most nights, had just experienced a sudden change in his sleep schedule and found himself tired much earlier than usual. No ulterior motive in sight.

             “I’m pretty sure I forgot I don’t live here,” Sage said with narrowed eyes the second Sirius disappeared upstairs. James let out a quiet laugh, hands in his lap, looking at Sage subtly - she stared at the fire, and he stared at her.

             “But I really do feel like this is probably such a nice place to sleep.” A relaxed breath escaped her. She’d been inching closer and closer to James, slowly, influenced by the room’s aura - bravery filled her, turning her curiosity into action. She wondered, what would it be like to cuddle with James? “Hufflepuff is still more comfortable, though.”

            Sage pulled her hands into her sweater’s sleeves and looked over at him, and their eyes met.

             “I don’t know if I believe you.” Looking around at the room around him, he couldn’t imagine anything more calming.

             “Eh, that’s fine.” Eyelids suddenly heavy, Sage yawned, and rested her head against James’ arm. “It’s perspective-- no, subjective.”

             “Are you tired?” James asked in a teasing voice, though he was feeling the effects of the room, too - the warmth of the fire, the comfortable couch, the girl sitting next to him...

             When Sage didn’t answer him, eyes closed, James had no reason to believe she was anything but asleep. So he smiled and adjusted his arm so they would both be comfortable, moving it around her, and rested his head back on the couch’s cushions. It took all of five seconds for him to fade away, too. They fell through sleep together, dreams of sugarplums dancing in their heads.

            Christmas morning at Hogwarts was as magical and as warm as ever, with snow falling gently outside, cold winter winds kept out by the castle walls. It was warm, inside, in more ways than one - along with the heat from the many lit fireplaces, the people of Hogwarts all seemed to be in a good mood (even the always-gloomy seventh year Hufflepuff was feeling nice - their only complaint all day was “oh, but we don’t do this for Hanukkah? As always, Christmas gets priority!” to which they were asked, “oh, are you Jewish? We are!” by the twin Hufflepuffs. Their response was “uh, no, but... ah, whatever.” So, things were nice).

            Of course, as Christmas mornings tended to, it started slow, with people waking up happy only to remember there were presents waiting for them, causing them to jump up and leave ‘slow morning’ in their dust.

            Included in the slow-risers were James Potter and Sage Charles, two people who hadn’t _planned_ on falling asleep on a couch in the Gryffindor common room, but still ended up unconscious and weirdly cuddling. This was weird for James, as he had a bed right up the stairs and a crush on the girl asleep on him, and weird for Sage as she had a bed _pretty far away_ from there and had never slept in someone else’s common room.

            They weren’t intertwined on the couch but certainly were cuddling (at one point, though, the fire’d fallen low and they burrowed together. But when it came back to life, they separated - they got too hot snuggled together under a blanket with a fire providing even more heat), a blanket neither remembered grabbing spread over their legs. James was the first of the two to wake, his arms around Sage, chests inches apart and generating quite a bit of heat. He knew it was early - he was an early riser. This was another thing he picked up, as well as the ‘herbivorism’, from being a deer, along with his tendency to wake in the night multiple times before deciding he was too tired to deal with shit and forcing himself back to sleep. He’d done this a few times that night, but each time he only experienced two things - looking at the fire through lidded eyes and feeling warm. The first time he’d woken, though, he took off his glasses and put them _somewhere_ in his half-asleep state, leading him to look down at Sage in his arms and only half-see her. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing softly, he could tell, and he knew she must look asleep - face emotionless, hair messy, perhaps she drooled a little bit. And even though he was almost blind, he kept looking at her, trying to see her freckles even though he _knew_ it would be impossible.

            When he was looking for his glasses, she woke up. Her eyes fluttered open, focusing to see under James’ chin as he reached over to the table beside the couch, hand gently slapping its surface in different spots as he tried to find his glasses by touch. After his fourth slap of the table, his palm hit something different - the large frames of his glasses (if a better mental image is necessary, imagine exactly what one would think when told ‘seventies/eighties dad glasses’ and it’s probably right. Keep in mind - this is 1976, so James doesn’t look ridiculous or hipster-esque, but fashionable).

            As James put his glasses on, Sage moved her head and torso away from him slightly, falling back to get a better look at him. He felt her move, and once he’d made himself able to see again, he looked over at her, loosening his arm’s grip around her.

            “Morning,” he said, wondering if he’d woken her up, and if he had, if it was too early for her. She showed no signs of being bothered, though, as she smiled at him. He’d been right about her hair getting messy - it was mostly okay, but definitely ruffled. James knew his was just as messy as it always got upon waking, but she didn’t seem to care (to be fair, his hair was always hectic).

            “Morning.” Sage’s voice was raspy as she spoke, like his. “It’s Christmas.”

            James chuckled, slowly coming to realize what was going on, who was in his arms, and that he’d _slept with her_ (not like _that_ , but come _on_!). “It sure is. Happy Christmas, Sage.”

            “Happy Christmas.” There was a pause, seconds long, were they looked at each other with soft smiles, before they seemed to snap out of shared dazes and remember they were _very_ close together. James took his arm away from its spot around her and she inched away so they were no longer ‘cuddling’ in any way but sitting next to each other - close, still - on a couch like anyone else would.

            Sage yawned and rubbed her eyes just as a great thunder sounded, the noise of the three other Marauders coming down the stairs, into the common room. Sirius came first, running at top speed and practically sliding down the steps, followed by Peter who kept up a light jog as he descended, and lastly Remus, who was walking, almost as casually and elegantly as someone of royal blood. All three boys, regardless of excitement levels, were in pyjamas (though in different ways - Peter looked like he’d woken up seconds ago and had tossed and turned all night, while Sirius seemed to have not slept - he looked more like he was modelling sleepwear - he’d slept just as much as a man in a catalogue wearing the newest in sleep-fashion had, his bottoms unruffled from a night’s rest, the little brooms patterned on them sitting perfectly).

            “Well!” Sirius reached the bottom of the stairs, hopping onto the floor before he advanced forward, walking toward James and Sage with a shark-like grin on his face. “Did you two _rascals_ sleep well?”

            Sirius finished by plopping onto the armchair directly to the right of the couch, positively mischievous. Seconds later, Remus walked by him rolling his eyes (but still smiling) and sat in the armchair to the left.

            “Budger off, Padfoot,” said James, unable to hide the smile on his face as he bantered with Sirius.

            “It looks like all your presents are here, Sage,” said Peter, who had gone over to look at the gifts under the evergreen tree. Between his fingers was the label on a box which did indeed say it was for her.

             “Wicked.” Sage grinned, stretching her arms, blushing (Sirius’ comment was the reason, as well as the realization that they all knew she’d _slept with_ James), happy the house elves were so smart and helpful and that she’d worn comfortable clothes.

            “We’ll open them now,” said Peter, “and then get breakfast.”

            The four others agreed unanimously, all doing the right thing by pretending to be somewhat uninterested in presents. It was only polite, of course, to act as if they were okay either way, when really, they all just wanted to tear into the gifts. Following their manners, they gave the presents to their owners before they opened anything, pretending they had no issue with waiting (“they’re only presents!”) while feeling the gifts buzz under their fingertips, just _begging_ to be opened.

            With their own presents in their laps, they started. All calm vanished, manners gone, as paper was ripped off boxes and thrown onto the floor (but away from Peter, who’d sat onto the floor in front of the couch and the armchairs).

            Sage started with her brother’s gift - something she was looking forward to a whole lot (also, they’d made plans to talk later that day - she was to go into the Hufflepuff common room and he’d use Floo powder to send his head into their fireplace for a chat). The present itself wasn’t a whole lot, but Sage loved it. He’d gotten her several things from France (including a novel in their language, a note taped to its front which said, ‘ _to help you brush up on French, you’ll need it_ ’), but the best thing was the letter he included. Among other things, it told her he was getting closer to saving up enough money for a bigger place to live so she could stay with him over the summer.

            Wendy went overboard with her gifts. A note included explained it, saying something about ‘making up for leaving you’ and how ‘mum feels bad you couldn’t stay with us, too.’ Wendy’s box contained what she learned was an instant camera - thanks to Remus, who had knowledge of Muggle things (Sage did _not_ \- she was a Pureblood. Usually, Wendy, the Muggle-born, was the one to explain these things to her).

            Her first picture was accidental, of her confused face with Remus next to her as he tried to explain how it would work. The picture came out, ejected from the camera slowly. Sage watched it develop, squinting at it when it didn’t move (“I knew it wouldn’t, but it’s still weird”).

            Moving on from the camera, Sage was placing it back into the box Wendy sent it in (strangely big for just a camera) when she noticed something at the bottom of it. The bottom of the box was black, completely - Sage’s brow furrowed and she put the camera down to pick up the box. Turning it upside down in one hand and holding another at its entrance, she caught the thing that fell out - a record sleeve that had been laying on its side. It was completely black, but Sage knew what it was. She shot up off the couch and ran to the record player, sliding her new record out of its sleeve and setting it to play.

            The music began as Sage placed the sleeve down, looking over at Sirius. He looked at her, already in love with the song, none other than The Sex Pistol’s _Anarchy in the U.K._ The two of them bonded over their shared taste in punk music before the song stopped - it was a single. Sage put it back in its sleeve and both the camera and it into their box, making a mental note to thank Wendy a thousand times.

             Sage moved on in a better mood. The five of them were laughing and joking together, and she was really, truly enjoying herself as she picked up another unopened gift (flimsy, wrapped in red paper), causing James to chuckle awkwardly.

             “That one’s from me,” he scratched the back of his neck, skin hot. Sage’s eyebrows rose curiously, her fingers moving to pull off the paper. What was it, she wondered, James had given her? Well, with the paper removed, she was holding a mass of lilac knitted fabric. “It’s, uh- it’s a sweater. My grandmother taught me how to knit, and I didn’t know what else to get you. It’s not the best, but…”

             “Oh, James, I love it.” This was the truth - in fact, she wasted no time in taking off her yellow sweater, a t-shirt underneath, and pulling on the lilac one. One of the sleeves was longer than the other and it was way too big for her, but she found herself unable to care. It was soft and warm, quite cuddly, and obviously made with care.

             Sage grinned at how lovely a gesture the sweater was and threw her arms around James, hugging him nicely. After less than a second, his arms were around her, too, a warm embrace interrupted by the click of a camera. Her camera, in Sirius’ hands, pointed right at her and James. The picture came out into a grinning Sirius’ hand, mischief dancing in his eyes.

             “I figured it out,” he said cheekily, awaiting the image on the blank sheet. Once it was visible, he handed it to Sage who inspected it along with James. In all honesty, it was quite cute. They hugged, still, James’ hands grasping at the sweater hanging around Sage’s body.

             The gift-opening ended not long after that, all five of them enjoying their piles of things, thanking each other for the gifts they exchanged before they decided they should eat something - the high of Christmas energy was falling slightly as they got hungry.

            This was when they parted ways - the boys went upstairs to dress and to the Great Hall while Sage made her way down to the Hufflepuff Basement, grabbing something from the kitchens on her way there. Her breakfast was small and eaten as she dressed and got ready for the day, excited about what was to come soon.

            Sage sat in front of the Hufflepuff common room’s fireplace ten minutes before August was scheduled to pop his head into it. Sitting on the floor, a pillow in her lap and a book beside her, she waited, wishing they could have more but glad she was at least getting this.

            She opened the book and began to read to pass time, playing with the pillow on her lap, tracing its seams. An eternity later, he showed up - just his head, as expected. Book thrown to the side, Sage hugged the pillow and leaned forward, grinning.

            “August!” If she was three years younger, she would’ve squealed.

            “Hello, Sage,” August smiled wide. “Happy Christmas - I’m glad to see you, and to talk in English for once.”

            Sage was thrilled he sounded as relieved to see her as she was to see him.  

             August Charles was a good person, all in all. At 6 years older than his sister, they didn’t really have much in common, and for a while, they didn’t have the best relationship. But after their dad left and their mother passed, they’d gotten closer, and he took on the role of her guardian, even though he was only 18 at the time. His and Sage’s relationship had grown tremendously over the past couple years, as they really only had each other.

             Now, at age 23, August lived in a tiny flat above the place at which he worked - a cafe solely for magical people much like the Leaky Cauldron. The cafe itself was in a nice French town, a place with a population of both wizards and Muggles.

             “How’s France?”  

             “Uh… eventful. Very lively.” August’s voice calmed Sage, with its heavy Scottish accent and familiarity. “How’s school? Have you been working hard? Getting good grades?”

             Sage rolled her eyes overdramatically, smile on her face, “ _yes_.”

             “You’d better. When’s the next Quidditch match?”

             “Late February. It’s Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin.” Sage looked away from him as if she were thinking - an act, actually - she knew the whole schedule by heart, but she wanted to at least _seem_ normal.

             She talked to August for quite a while, covering everything from his new friends to how the food at Hogwarts was that year. But at a point, he did have to leave, so the pair said their goodbyes, both promising to write. August’s head vanished, and the fire immediately went back to normal. Sage sat there for a minute, thinking, before she sighed and stood, picking up her book. She really wished she could’ve seen him in person, but this was the next best thing.

 

             That evening, as always, Hogwarts held its Christmas feast. The Great Hall’s decorations were reflective of the holiday, all light and happy, inspiring those who entered to feel jolly and festive. There were many giant trees, all decorated in beautiful ornaments, thanks to Professor Flitwick. The Hall’s tables were pushed aside to have just one in the center of the room where everyone left at the castle would eat together. It was one of those things which made those in Hogwarts feel like a family.

             Sage sat close to Professor Sprout and McGonagall, James not far from her. It was nice to see the professors in such a casual setting - it gave the (correct) idea that the teachers weren’t just weird bat-people who didn’t do anything but teach and slept in their classrooms, but instead were actual people just like any other. Talking to them was nice, and self-assuring, maybe, as at some point Professor Sprout started to gush about Sage’s skill in Herbology. Sage, a blush covering her face, looked modestly at her plate. They, thankfully for Sage, shifted to James Potter’s skills in Transfiguration (McGonagall told them, “a natural. Prodigy, even. Shame he seems to not have a care whether he does well or not.”), making James smirk at the teacher (“what can I say, Minnie? School just doesn’t seem to appeal to me”).  

             Sage ended the night feeling full and soft, ready to float on down to bed, and was doing just that as she walked out of the Hall. A voice stopped her, though, just as she was about to head down a staircase, making her turn around. James rushed to reach her, seeming to mirror her feelings of fatigue.

             “I wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas one more time,” he said, running a hand through his hair and messing it up further.

             “Thank you. And thank you for making my Christmas one to remember.” Sage smiled at him, a pure smile, her eyes closed happily.

             “I hope you mean that in a good way.” Why James sounded so worried, she didn’t know.

             “The best way. It really was great, James. Thank you.” It was then, as she was sincere as possible, when she noticed something move above them. On the stone ceiling of the corridor he’d stopped her in, a bit of green had sprouted out of seemingly nowhere. It grew, and what it was slowly became obvious - mistletoe. It was a small patch, and stopped growing a few seconds later, but seemed to hang over the two teenagers in more ways than one.

            “Huh,” said James, putting his wand back into his pocket. “That’s strange.”

            “Really.” Sage’s voice was breathy as her gaze went from the beautiful plant to James. He stared at her, face lit up by the torch on the wall next to them, hazel eyes fixed on her. “Quite strange.”

            James’ eyes flickered away from her and back, nervousness taking its place in his stomach as he waited for her to do something. Her brow was raised, a small, knowing smile on her lips, as she tilted her head slightly, curious.

            “It’s funny - I’ve dealt with a great deal of plants in my time, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen on-cue mistletoe.”

            “Must be new.” James shrugged, grinning suddenly, “maybe you’ve just never seen it because you’ve never wanted to kiss someone this bad on Christmas before.”

            “James Potter, how cocky of you.” A blush flashed on Sage’s face at his overt flirting, something she decided to do right back. “How do we know it wasn’t just your wish to kiss me?”

            “You’ve got a point there,” he said. A pause, then he added, full of charm, “I guess we just have to say it’s a joint effort.”

            “Oh? So, you admit you want to kiss me?” This was new. Sage had flirted in the past, yes, but this was something different. Her teasing was delivered on smirking lips, feeling brave and bold - was it because of all the Gryffindor energy she absorbed earlier, or was just another part of her growing up and getting older, more confident? Either way, she liked it.

            “Hm.” James pretended to think for a second before he nodded, obviously flirting right back. “I suppose that is what I’m saying, isn’t it?”

            “You’re very forward.” Sage’s neck was hot - they’d both inched closer, now centimeters apart. Their eyes were glued on each other as they exchanged comments, a subtle smirk on Sage’s face and an outright grin on James’.

            “Am I? Well, you can’t blame me. I mean, even the plants want us to kiss. I guess, they could be wrong-- they don’t have brains, do they?” How was it possible for him to be so charmingly cocky?

            “I suppose they don’t. But it seems so sure of its opinion, even without a brain. Maybe it’s just the obvious choice.” _When had she gotten so cocky?!_

            “Ah, it sure seems so - perhaps, if it’s the obvious choice, we should just go ahead and give in.”

            “Oh, well, you make it sound like a _chore_.”

            “ _Merlin_ , it’s _not_.”

            Sage bit back her “well, now you sound desperate,” because _damn_ , he _really_ wanted to kiss her, didn’t he? Her sudden boldness took home again.

            “So, do you _want_ to kiss me?”

            “Sage, of _course_ I want to kiss you. The--”

            Sage decided, in her boldness, she _might as well_ give him what he wanted (actually, hearing he wanted it was all she needed to go ahead). Letting go of her smirk, she grabbed onto the collar of his sweater and pulled - bringing him onto her. Their lips met, cutting off James’ words, and their hands repositioned, his moving to her waist and her second going to the back of his head, another way to keep him where she could get to him. Her back arched up, bringing her closer to him as well as her hands bringing him to her.

            The initial kiss didn’t have much to it other than the force of their lips slammed together, the surprise at the fast actions, and the breathlessness of a sudden, stolen kiss. They parted just enough for James to tilt his head, both of them sucking in breaths, and met again. James’ hands on Sage’s waist moved, laying on her lower back where he could pull her closer. Their lips moved against each other, eyes closed and hearts beating heavy. Sage’s grip on his shirt loosened as he went deeper, her back arching more as they went from kissing suddenly to kissing _passionately_ to full-on snogging.

            They pulled away again, this time for real, and suddenly remembered just how tired they both were, how exhausted they’d been before they were standing in a corridor and sucking face. Centimeters away from each other, they kept their hands where they were, looking into each other’s eyes. After a few seconds, James brought a hand away from the small of her back to her face, his thumb softly touching the lower lip of her slightly-open mouth. The hand she had grabbed his collar with had let go, its thumb tracing his jaw.

             They stood there a minute, both oozing teenage hormones and feeling like they could pass out. Their breathing slowed, falling in sync. There were words on the tips of their tongues, ready to be spoken. They both had things they longed to tell the other, but neither of them uttered a single syllable. They were too tired, and too ready for sleep, to say much.

             Sage was in a dream, she felt. They parted ways at some point, heading to their respective houses, saying good-nights she could barely remember. Sage prepared for bed already half-asleep, pulling back the patchwork quilt on her bed before she lay down, falling unconscious before she even had the chance to cover herself in her blankets.


	8. Eight

            Holiday break lasted two weeks. Two weeks of being alone in a gigantic castle with no homework to slow down adventures - two weeks of _fun_. At least, they _could’ve_ been fun - and they were! But they would’ve been _so much more_ fun if Wendy was there. Going on adventures is so much better with a partner in crime. Without Wendy, Sage still found ways to enjoy herself - mainly, taking advantage of the school’s gigantic library. She finally had the time to read some of the books in it, along with those she owned herself but could never find the time for with homework piling up. Sage’s winter break was spent reading in front of fires to stay warm, books with topics from potion-brewing in different climates (as it turns out, potions made in cold temperatures needed to be stirred more often) to a (quite trashy) teen novel about a space cowboy falling in love with a vampire.

             The worst part of break - aside from frequent boredom - was the walk to and from the library. It was exhaustingly far, but Sage swore to herself it was worth it (if not for the books, for the exercise - she had to keep in shape, even on the off season!) and did it anyway, even if she got really cold in the castle’s many corridors. Stone walls should’ve kept out winter winds, so why were sudden breezes sneaking up on her while she walked? Most likely, the cause was something magical, but she couldn’t care to investigate. She’d just suffer and wear thicker and thicker sweaters each time she went.

             To stave off the boredom that still reared its ugly head although she read, Sage spent time with the other students who remained over break. The twins in Hufflepuff were delightful, really great kids, and the broody seventh-year turned out to get really, really excited when they played chess (Muggle, not wizard, though they seemed to like the wizard kind as well. Sage had decided they should just stick to the Muggle version when they’d said something along the lines of “it’s nice when they attack each other” when she mentioned the violence of wizard chess).

             But she didn’t stick to Hufflepuffs - no, she spent time with some Ravenclaws and a few Slytherins, and she even hung out with a couple Gryffindors. Well, the Gryffindors she hung out with were really just the _Marauders_ , but that counted. As it turned out, James and his friends were all quite interesting people.

             It was the Sunday before the end of holiday break when Sage sat, frozen to her bones and covered in snow, in the Gryffindor common room with the four boys. All five of them were battle-weary, a hard-fought snowball fight the cause of their shared fatigue. Immediately after the fight ended, they came up to Gryffindor tower where they knew a fire would be raging. They sat in front of the fire, warming themselves as the snow flurries stuck on them melted, a record (Sirius’ choice) playing music in the background.

             Taking off her snow-logged Hufflepuff scarf, Sage wiggled her toes (freshly free from her boots) in front of the fire. Her socks moved, the only way she knew she had actually successfully wiggled - she could not feel the digits at all. But, luckily, they weren’t frozen off, and she slowly started feeling a tingle in them. Now she just had to worry about her fingers (Peter said he felt they looked a little blue, but either Sage suddenly went colour-blind or she just really did not want to see it).

             Next to her, James rubbed his hands (rough and dry, as he kept forgetting to moisturize them as often as he needed - he _knew_ his skin got dry in the winter, but he never changed his habits - he’d forget about it, even when his mother sent him cocoa butter, and have dry and cakey hands all winter) together, bringing them close to the fire, his gloves discarded atop his coat he’d thrown onto a couch (after shaking it to get it less snowy, resulting in a little pile of white on the hardwood floor - something his mother would’ve hit him upside the head for). His glasses were crooked - better than they had been, but his ‘fixing’ them meant he really just tilted them enough so he could actually see. They gave him a dopey look - _a good one_ \- only amplified by his grin, a look of pure _James_ , that a simple glance at projected feelings of foolish happiness. He was telling a story to Sage using wild facial expressions and hand gestures as he delivered a harrowing tale of his “youth” (like, two years ago) with great bravado.

             “But no matter how hard he tried,” said James, continuing his story, using words which could be described as ‘boastful’ and ‘overdramatic’ while his friends watched on with rolling eyes (he didn’t notice this, of course, as he was too caught up in the storytelling and the girl he was telling the story _to_ ), “Filch just couldn’t catch us. We were an enigma - he would get hints of us, tantalizing tastes, and then we were gone, vanished into the wind.”

             “You could say we were his white whale, à la Moby Dick.” Remus, from his position underneath a gigantic knitted blanket atop an armchair, chimed in to James’ tale, utterly facetious, something James either didn’t notice or ignored.

             “Yeah, exactly!” James, who had never read Moby Dick, agreed with Remus’ teasing so certainly that the werewolf had no choice but to roll his eyes and place his face in his hand. A second after James agreed wholeheartedly, his smile fell a bit and his brow furrowed as he admitted, “I mean, I think.”

             Not bothering to turn his whole body, James shifted his head and torso to glance back at Remus. “That’s the one with the guy who really wants to kill that whale, right?”

             Remus pursed his lips before saying on a sigh in a tone which conveyed how desperately tired he was, “yeah, mate.”

             “Good!” Instantly, James’ grin returned and his brow unfurrowed as he turned back to the fire and Sage. “Yeah, so we were his whale, or whatever. Anyway, so he’d get glimpses of us and we’d vanish. It was great. For us, I mean - drove him mad, actually. He hated us - he _still_ hates us.”

             “I mean, we tormented the man. You can’t really blame him.” Peter had changed his sweater, as the one he wore during the snowball fight ended up much too wet for comfort.

             “Yeah, yeah, sure. Anyway, that’s not to say there weren’t a few close calls - we’ve had many almost-run-ins.”

             “Prongs, are you trying to claim we’ve never actually been caught--”

             “Ignore Sirius, he’s irrelevant-- but every time we _almost_ get caught by Filch, it just fuels him further. One time, on a dark and moonlit night, the Marauders were what they always were - up to no good.” James told this story as if it were an epic, and Sage got the impression that he really thought it was.

             “We were out of bed, searching for our next great adventure. The corridors were dark as they always were, and the castle seemed to be on our backs, trying to scare us off - to get us to turn back. Every sound could’ve been a teacher, every breeze a ghost, and each time we walked by a painting, we faced the risk of someone spotting us. But still, we continued.”

             “Noble.” Sage’s humor was lost on James as he nodded solemnly.

             “We were.” A sigh, overdramatic, then he continued. “Our mission for that night was clear, and we knew the risks. To go outside at night was to look danger right in its eye and tell it, in no uncertain terms, ‘ _fuck off_ ’.”

             “Why were you going outside?” asked Sage, less curious than teasing.

             For a few seconds, as he answered her, the dramatic narrator fell away, replaced by his regular self, a casual explanation of, “oh, we go out onto the grounds and start a fire ever so often, you know.”

             Sage most certainly did _not_ know, and as James moved on, adopting his drama persona and continuing the story, she could not get back into it without him elaborating on whatever the fuck ‘starting a fire’ meant. Because if it meant what she thought it did - _what it pretty clearly did_ \- then she had an issue.

             “Woah, wait, hold on - you start a fire? Like, arson? That’s... _really_ illegal-- and where do you start it? How have I not heard about this, from a teacher or someone saying half of the Quidditch pitch burned down?”

             “Oh, no,” said James, casual again, smiling at her and waving his hand to show she was incorrect as he chuckled once, “it’s controlled, like a bonfire.”

             “James, I’m still pretty sure that’s illegal.” She was not scolding him, but as she squinted at James, she almost felt the need to. All she could think of was the mental image of him and his mates lighting Hagrid’s pumpkins on fire (then, it would be _“contained”_ to the pumpkin patch). They kept changing in her imagination - going back and forth from their sixth-year selves to their second-year counterparts. Concerning.

             “I mean, don’t we perform illegal activities _daily_?” Sirius, stretched out on the couch - taking up the whole thing - made a good point. Sage was silent for a second, supposing this true (but she was still concerned). Eternally helpful, he added, “it really is controlled, though - it’s like this shallow pit we put some magic fire in that we control the size of. It’s pretty wicked.”

             “...alright,” said Sage, still concerned but now less so. She was about to tell James to continue his story when she remembered something, sparking another question. “Oh, is that where you all went last month? Like, towards the start of December. You all looked so exhausted, but I suppose you wouldn’t get much sleep when you’re out, would you? And it hadn’t snowed all _too_ much, then...”

             This was not where the boys were. The beginning of December, they went out to do what they did often - aid Remus with his transformations. They couldn’t _tell_ her that, though. Luckily, Peter was quick-witted and came up with a lie to save the day as the boys shared a look.

             “Yeah, that’s where we were. We go, hm, about once a month, I guess - whenever we come back and look super tired, you’ll know we most likely had a bonfire.” Peter said this in a casual manner and executed the lie perfectly, so Sage had no idea he was totally pulling this out of nowhere.

             Sage nodded as she adjusted her legs so she was facing James more than she was the fire. Looking at him, she waited for him to continue his story, using this as an excuse to check him out and not have it be weird. She was just _looking at_ him, because they were _talking_. This was normal, she swore - even as she licked her lips slightly when her eyes trailed down his jaw (because could anyone blame her? Jesus Christ, it was like fucking Michelangelo carved it out of stone - _literally_ creating a chiseled jaw).

             And he did continue, talking just as boastfully and dramatically as before. Even when she lay down on the floor and propped her head up with her elbow, looking like a work of art herself, he kept telling the story.

             It was when he made a dramatic flourish and a loud “WHOOSH” sound signifying the fire suddenly increasing in size and described the flames as if they were waves on a stormy sea that Sage had a thought. She had smelled him before, after he gave her his sweater most specifically. Amongst other things, he had a certain _woodsy_ smell, the sweetness that floated in the air in the night where a bonfire raged. He smelled like bonfires, and she had previously found this incredibly confusing ( _how could he smell like bonfires if he had been at school for months?_ ). But now, she supposed, watching his nose crinkle up as he mentioned Filch again, that he _did_ smell like bonfires (for a while, she thought she might just be making it up) and that it made perfect sense.

             She wondered what he thought she smelled like. (And really, she wished she wasn’t this creepy.)

 

             When the holiday break came to an expected but unwelcome halt, Wendy and the rest of the school returned for a new round of lessons. Sage met Wendy as soon as she got off of the train and literally did not stop talking to her until they were both completely aware of everything that had happened to the other while they were apart.

             As happy as Sage was that the school was full and her friends were around once more, she found herself bitter – now that the school was back, she had to _do schoolwork_. And there sure was a lot of it – in her sixth year, Sage was getting more work than ever, and on top of that, she was taking the optional Apparition class offered by the Ministry of Magic. Though it was extra (and more dangerous) work, Sage had to admit that this class was not horrible, if only for it teaching her how to Apparate – a useful, real-world skill. The class was only available for those who were seventeen-years-old or would be by August’s end. Sage, who had been seventeen since the end of November, was happy to meet the criteria.

             January was a hazy, dull, boring blur. Overtaken by schoolwork, N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. level students found themselves without free time, adding to the already unpleasant air of January. January already had a natural ‘ _blagh_ ’ feeling, where it was hard to enjoy anything at all while everything seemed so grey, but it was even _worse_ because of the mounds of schoolwork hanging over each student.

             Social lives took backseats to academics, bothering almost everyone (save the teachers). The main social interactions were passing greetings in hallways and study sessions – nobody had the energy with the _blagh_ feelings of January to hang out and be lively. There was one Gryffindor girl in particular bothered by how busy Wendy had become – the two girls had been building quite the relationship before the break, one full of energy and festivity. But now, with the grossness of January (Somehow, the best way to describe the weather was to call it sleet. Muddy, dirty, horizontal sleet falling from the sky) upon them and massive workloads on their backs, their relationship was on hold. (Still, the girl could be seen sending longing glances toward Wendy during classes and in corridors).

             Sage really was happy the students were back, though – she got to see her friends, and even zombie kids made the school livelier. It was nice to see things less empty.

             But, still, with the return of students came the return of one girl who Sage would have preferred to stay home. Lucinda Talkalot seemed to have toned down the hatred and bitterness, but she still often made snide comments around Sage. Most of the time, this was not all too big of a deal. Sage prided herself on her tough skin and how she showed the world someone strong, someone unaffected.

             That being said, sometimes Lucinda did actually bother Sage – for example, right after the holiday ended, she said something about how Sage stayed at the castle, turning the observation unnecessarily cruel (more specifically, “saw you stayed back. It’s nice your brother finally realized he’s above being your parent.” This was, of course, referring to how Sage’s brother had been a Slytherin and how both Sage’s parents were dead). Sage, hard-faced, had responded to this (“fuck you”) and gone back to ignoring the girl before heading back to her room where she let herself cry in front of Wendy and tried to get over it.

            February was better. Still shitty and dull, but better. Classes continued as they had been, boring, but teachers tried their hardest to get students interested (not even excited. They had given up on excited, and if they were honest, ‘interested’ wasn’t happening anytime soon and would likely be turning into getting students to just _sit up_ ).

            The perfect opportunity for this was for Professor Slughorn to do his lesson on ~love potions~ and even more perfect, as it was nearing Valentine’s Day. For his sixth-year N.E.W.T. level class, this meant a discussion on Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world.

            It was the Friday before Valentine’s Day and Sage Charles was craving death – she had more homework to keep track of _and_ she was quite sure she was getting sick. All day, she had been feeling sniffly, and her throat had felt dryer than the Sahara when she woke up that morning. Her back hurt from carrying around her bag, full of homework and nearing its breaking point, and when she tried to sneak in a midday nap instead of eating lunch in the Great Hall (she ate a quick, on-the-go lunch stolen from the kitchens), she accidentally laid down on top of a cat – who now hated her – and ended up with a scratch running up her left forearm.

            So really, when she walked into Slughorn’s class, all she wanted to do was brew a nice goblet of the Draught of Living Death and slip into a magically-induced coma. Was that _really_ too much to ask?

            She got her answer – a clear and definite “ _fuck you_ ” – when she sat down. Slughorn entered, said hello, got a pathetic response, and did something only the most obnoxious of teachers do; he asked them to go again, saying, “oh, you can do better than that!”

            Sage almost got out of her seat, slid onto the floor, and laid there for a while, unbothered, under her desk. She didn’t, but _oooh, she wanted to._ She _really_ wanted to.

            “I have a real treat for you all today!” said Slughorn, way too eager as he walked up to the covered cauldron at the front of the room.

            Sage resisted the urge to bang her head against the desk.

            “In honor of the holiday this Monday, we will learn, today, about a potion you will be recreating.”

            Sage had a very nasty thought that she very much could not share with anyone. (Perhaps she was being overly bitter, but she _was_ getting sick.)

            The cauldron at the front of the room was golden, quite pretty, and something Sage usually liked. At that moment, as Slughorn moved up to it and reached to take of its lid, though, all she could think in reference to it was various grumbling noises.

            The cut on her arm stung again as she switched which elbow she used to hold up her head – it was not deep, but applying pressure made her aware of its presence. Slughorn took the lid off of the cauldron and smoke began to rise from it in pretty spirals Sage barely saw – her eyes were blinking for an unnecessarily long amount of time. When they opened again, she gave herself a bit of a kick – she needed to pay attention, no matter how much she didn’t want to be there.

             “Can anyone identify this potion for me?” asked Slughorn, prompting multiple hands to raise into the air. It didn’t matter whose hands they were, but know both of Sage’s did not move. Slughorn cared, though, as he looked around the room before he chose. “Ah, Mister Snape, if you would.”

             “Amortentia is a potion that mimics the effects of passion,” said Snape. Sage sat up a little, looking at the cauldron – she’d read about it. A horrible thing, she thought, but could not help but wonder – if it changed its scent for each person in particular, what would it smell like as it tried to attract her? “It is often thought of as the most powerful love potion ever created, but does not truly produce the effects of love. Amortentia gives the illusion of love, but what it truly creates is an obsession. It has a mother-of-pearl sheen and smells differently to each person based on what attracts them.”

            Sage couldn’t even be bothered to think to herself how creepy Snape was (he did that to her – every time she saw him, heard him, she just immediately thought of when he had alienated Lily Evans by being both homophobic and racist in front of a large group of people. He called her two slurs, which added to Sage’s discomfort around him, but even without that, he was just _creepy_ ), too busy looking at the smoke rising from the cauldron. She couldn’t be blamed for being curious, could she? Her eyes flickered to Slughorn, just in time for him to make eye contact with her before she looked back at the potion. Maybe she would be able to smell it, soon. If they were brewing their own, she could smell it all she wanted – as long as she did it right. Suddenly motivated, Sage looked down at her copy of _Advanced Potionmaking_ and skimmed it lightly, still paying attention. What a shift from five minutes ago, right?

            “Exactly – take twenty-five points to Slytherin.” There was a pause as Slughorn moved across the front of the room. Sage kept reading – there was a part in the potion where she had to “ _stir with passion_ ” and she had absolutely no idea how to passionately _stir_ something. Should she put on some romantic music, pour some wine, get to know the potion a little better, and try stirring on the third date?

            “Mister Potter.” The way Slughorn said James’ last name – sudden and forceful – was in that manner of ‘ _you weren’t paying attention, so let me call you out in front of the class, arsehole_ ’. It made Sage’s head snap up, as if she had been the one caught, and watch the scene in front of her unfold.

            Slughorn had stopped, arms folded, and was staring James down. James was frozen, his hand mid-shove as he tried to get something in his pocket, an awkward smile on his face that was obviously an attempt to seem innocent that only made him look even more suspicious.

            Slughorn’s wish of getting everyone to look at and almost shun James was working – the whole class, even those who hadn’t been paying attention, had snapped to attention when Slughorn said James’ name in that manner, something primal in them worrying he was addressing them. There was an audience, and Slughorn was happy to put on a show.

            “Why don’t you come up here and share with the class what you smell?”

            Of course, James had to do what he was told. So, he stood, face beginning to feel warm, and walked to the front of the classroom. Stopping next to the cauldron, he took a deep breath in and almost forgot he was supposed to be describing what he smelled.

            It was as if he was breathing for the first time. Before now, he had just been sucking in air, but this was different. If he could have this – whatever it was – just piped into his nose all the time, he’d never be sad.

            “Alright,” he began, struggling as he always did – he was horrible at naming scents. “Well, that’s… hold on.”

            He ignored the giggling of various girls as he tried to connect it. _Fuck_ , he thought, knowing he smelled this before. _Okay, Quidditch something – like, before a match, or just—_

            “Broomstick polish.” Ah, one down. This wouldn’t be too hard!

            _Something… plant? There’s something like dirt, but then there’s also… something sweet? If it’s sweet… is it floral? Sure._

            “Something flowery,” he said – he wasn’t going to even _try_ to figure out _what_ flower it was.

            _Alright, that’s… Merlin, I have no idea. Uh, is it… has it been at Honeydukes? Candy? No—ugh, just say it’s—_

            “Chocolate. Er, most likely. That’s it.”

            “Congratulations, Mister Potter, I think you’ve discovered how to work your nose.” Slughorn gestured James back to his seat before he went on with the lesson.

            Sage was looking at James quite intensely – he had been very cute, trying to figure out what he smelled – and she couldn’t help it as she started to think. Broomstick polish, some flower, and chocolate. Did _she_ smell like those things?

            The second she had this thought, she shook her head and looked away from him – how cheesy. She was acting like a little girl with a schoolyard crush and she hated it. She was too _mature_ for that. She was seventeen, not _twelve_. (Of course, these were just Sage’s inner criticisms, and do not reflect on any truths in any manner. Having dumb crushes is a thing we, as humans, can (mostly) all deal with, no matter our age or whatever.)

             But _fuck_ , all she could think of, suddenly, was how she was _Quidditch Captain_ , hung out in _greenhouses_ , and… well, the last one was iffy, as she did like chocolate, but it wasn’t like the other two – she wasn’t whipping up chocolate every day. She didn’t even _eat_ it every day.

            A few minutes later, she discovered (along with the rest of the class) stirring passionately really just meant focusing really, really hard on stirring while thinking about things one loved. So, Sage, feeling ridiculous but determined, took one glance at the cauldron at the front of the room – its cover back on – and her own, pewter cauldron, and thought about pleasant things as she stirred (five times clockwise, two counter-clockwise, then another three clockwise). All she could do was hope the potion decided she loved puppies enough to qualify as ‘ _passion_.’        

             Amortentia gave Sage its opinion in a way where she did not know if she’d gotten it or not until she _got it_. In other words, Sage sat at her desk, staring at the liquid in her cauldron, trying to figure out if she had done it right (she thought _maybe_ she could smell something… the smoke was rising in spirals, and it _looked_ right…) by squinting at it and trying to smell it, when she was slapped (metaphorically) in the face with a _smell_ so hard she almost fell out of her seat (but didn’t! Thank Merlin).

             Or, more accurately, _smells_ slammed into her – her nose was suddenly awash with something she could only describe as ‘ _mmm, good._ ’

             Recovering from her surprise, Sage closed her eyes and took in a breath to smell it even more, and—well, at the beginning of class, she wanted to just _die_ , but now? Fucking Hell, she had never wanted to live more – even if just so she could smell this goddamn potion. The best way she could think to describe it was like when she was dying of thirst, whether it had just been a while or she randomly woke up in the middle of the night with a throat dryer than the Sahara, and finally took a gulp of ice cold water. Only with this, the pure, sweet release was different, because it was like she hadn’t realized she was thirsty.

             Sage was, thankfully, much better at recognizing scents than James.

             The first thing she noticed was something she connected to a memory – her brother’s friend came over when she was very small and smelled strange.  She asked him what it was. He scoffed (he was a prick) and told her it was his new cologne. She would later come to know it as ‘musk.’

             There were other things she smelled - the next was, like James, the smell of a freshly-polished broomstick. Then, the smell the Hufflepuff common room adopted whenever its windows stayed open during a storm - the scent of earth after spring rain. The final smell was nothing less than what she smelled on James multiple times—bonfires. Shit.

             Sage’s eyes snapped open and she sat back in her chair. _Shit_.

             She gulped, trying, and failing to stop smelling it (it was _amazing_ , but also _incredibly distracting_ ) as she composed herself. Praying nobody had seen her almost fall out of her chair and subsequent nose-gasm, she cleared her throat and got the Professor’s attention by raising her hand sheepishly.

             “Ah, yes, Ms. Charles?” Slughorn rounded her desk, smiling at her. As he moved to stand close to her cauldron, his back straightened, and he realized she’d done it. She wasn’t the first – Severus Snape was, followed by Lily Evans and two others – but he still felt the need to tell the class, “Miss Charles has done it! Magnificent! A very strong smell – well done.”

             And it turned out that almost falling out of her seat was not too ridiculous – Slughorn took in another breath and told her, impressed, that she had done a _really_ good job with getting the scent right and she had made it more powerful than expected (she got the impression she was close to ‘ _too powerful_ ’), earning her house points and her ego a bit of a boost.

             The class ended not long after this – a good thing for Sage, as she didn’t think she could take being so close to something that smelled so _good_ for much longer - even just sitting there listening to Slughorn’s compliments made her face run bright red. She packed up her things and left, already feeling gloomy again (picking up her incredibly heavy bag dropped her mood about a hundred pegs).

             It was just after she left the classroom when someone called her name. She turned just as James, running a hair through his black hair, began to walk beside her.

             “So,” he said, trying to seem casual, “what did you smell?” His heart beating like crazy, the sixteen-year-old’s grip on his bag tightened.

             “I don’t know if I should say,” she said, only thinking about the last thing she’d smelled (if she stood a little closer to him, she could possibly catch a whiff…). Covering for herself, she followed up by teasing him with a subtle smirk, “I mean, what if you use my smells to blackmail me?”

             James smiled before he began to tease her right back. “Oh, come on – at least you don’t have to tell the whole class. Blackmail by one person is better than by – what, thirteen?” Nudging her playfully with his elbow, James got sweet. “I mean, I had to tell a class, and all I want is for you to tell me. Just me. I’ll keep it secret.”

             James looked at her with sparkling eyes, and although she’d decided, Sage hummed as if unsure. “I dunno…”

             “Oh, come on.” The pair stopped walking, moving to face each other in an otherwise empty corridor – everyone else had taken different routes out of the dungeons. “It’s me.”

             He said that – _“it’s me”_ – so sweetly and softly, Sage’s heart fluttered.

             “Oh, alright,” said Sage, pretending to give in – James grinned, leaning in closer to listen as she pretended to threaten him. “But don’t you go telling anyone else, James Potter.”

             James held out a finger, tracing an ‘X’ over his heart. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

             Smiling at him, Sage spoke slowly as she listed off her smells. “Okay, there was musk—”

             Nodding seriously, James made an ‘mm-hmm’ noise. This was something simple, but made Sage’s smile go wider, her teeth visible for a second before she, too, pretended this was serious business.

             “Then – and this is obvious – broomstick polish—”

             “Ah!” James’ serious face vanished as he grinned, throwing his head back, “same smell!”

             This was really too much fun – they both had classes to get to. Hanging in the halls and grinning at each other was not at all productive, but neither of them moved.

             “Mm-hmm,” hummed Sage, lips in the sort of smile that wants to be dangerously wide but stays contained to a manageable size. “And then we get, the sweetest, in my opinion, which is the smell of the earth after it rains – more specifically, in spring, and the smell from inside of the Hufflepuff Basement.”

             “Mm.” With his face still grinning, James questioned, “that it?”

             Sage did not let her facial expression change when she nodded, smiling, “that’s it.”

             It wasn’t like she could _tell_ him she smelled bonfires – _Merlin,_ she couldn’t _imagine_. (She would for sure be telling Wendy the second she saw her, though!) So, she play-teased him again, once again pretending to threaten him, “you’d better keep that to yourself, Mister Potter, or…”

             “Or what?” he asked, smiling mischievously as he teased her right back. Sage pursed her lips, trying to think.

             “Or…” Sage huffed and bit her lip for a second, unknowingly driving James wild as she looked away, thinking. “Or… well, I don’t know, but you won’t want to find out! It’s unimaginable!”

             James wasted no time in laughing – he looked at her with eyes crinkled up, letting out those laughs she knew even before she knew him: the hearty, contagious laughter that came in through the ears and made its way into the soul, irresistibly warm.

             “You’re adorable,” he said, seconds later. Sage’s face flushed, getting even redder as he leaned in closer, still teasing her. He opened his mouth to speak again just as a gentle breeze floated in the corridor, blowing from James to her. The second she inhaled, she almost squeaked – she _smelled_ him!

             “I have to get to my next class!” she said suddenly, very red. James’ smile fell slightly as she hopped backward, away from him, light on her feet. Stammering, she backed away from him, “I’ll, er, I’ll see you later, James! Er, bye!”

             She left him behind in her dust, confused as to why she had run away suddenly. The smell of her was fading away from him – something he had smelled in class and just then he did not want to let go of.

 

             As Valentine’s day was on a Friday, people who had Valentines were preferring to spend time with those special people the day after, when nobody had to worry about classes, on Saturday. Wendy was one of these people. Sage was not, and even worse for her, she was sick. She went to bed Thursday night with a little sniffle and woke up on Friday unable to breathe out of her nose. Unfortunately for her, she was still well enough to go to classes that day. So, tired and angry, Sage dragged herself to class. It was 5 minutes into her first class when she decided - _swore to herself_ as she told herself ‘ _its only a few hours_ ’ - immediately after her last class, she would go straight back to her dorm and burrow herself in her bed.

            When she walked into her dorm, coughing up a lung, Sage didn’t pay much attention to the other people in the room. Wendy, who sat on a chair with a schoolbook in her lap, and Megaera Mahew, another one of their roommates who lay atop her bedcovers doing homework, might as well have been invisible. Sage spared them no glances as she let her bag slip onto the floor while she headed straight to her bed. She didn’t even bother getting into bed properly - she walked straight up to the foot of the bed and launched herself forward. After landing on her bed, she scoot herself forward much like a caterpillar until she reached her pillow.

            Unfortunately for Sage, who already closed her eyes, her face didn’t only come into contact with her pillow - it also hit something... strange. Scowling, she sat up slightly, opened her eyes, and looked at the foreign object.

             Brow furrowed, Sage looked at a single red rose with a string tied around it, keeping a bit of parchment wrapped around its stem.

             “Did you leave this here?” Sage turned to her friend who was staring at her book. Wendy looked up and glanced at the flower in Sage’s hand. From her bed, Megaera looked over, curious and a little nosey.

             “What’s that? No, I didn’t put that there,” said Wendy, lying terribly. “That’s strange. Anyway, back to work!” Shoving her nose in her book, Wendy avoided Sage’s line of sight. Megaera sat up, watching this unfold, silent.

             “Uh-huh,” said Sage, sniffling. Her heart beating faster in anticipation, she untied the string as to get the parchment free, unfolding it after placing the flower back down, sitting on her bed to read the words scrawled on the paper.

 

_You thief, you’ve stolen my heart! I guess in return I’ve got to snatch yours._

_Happy Valentine’s Day._

 

             Sage, a blush on her face, turned to Wendy, who was peering out over the top of her book at her. Sage’s brow rose, looking at her friend who groaned.

             “Okay, I put it there. After Charms when you ran off the second class ended, James Potter gave it to me and said to put it on your dresser or something.” Wendy stood, her book forgotten behind her. Done eavesdropping, Megaera spoke up.

             “James Potter?” she asked, looking Sage over. She heard Wendy and Sage whisper about him sometimes, the past few months, but this was the first real thing she’d seen.

             “Yeah, James Potter.” Wendy waved Megaera off, turning back to Sage. “I didn’t read it, though. What does it say?”

             Sage showed her, still blushing. “Should I write him something back? I want to, but…”

             “You should do it!” said Wendy, a hopeless romantic, clapping her hands together.

             “You _have_ to write him back, Sage,” said Megaera, rolling her eyes and sitting up onto her knees. “I don’t know what it says, but you just _have_ to write him back!”

             Wendy nodded aggressively in agreement. “If you want, I can give it to him and you can sleep more, so you’ll hopefully be all better by tomorrow.”

             “Yeah, okay, that will work.” Sage grabbed a piece of parchment, tearing off a strip of it to write on and getting out a quill and some ink. Megaera and Wendy cheered once, high-fiving, making Sage roll her eyes.

             She thought for a second before dipping her quill into the ink and scribbling down a response, handing it to Wendy. Wendy then headed out for dinner, along with Megaera, both of whom were just _thrilled_ to have this happen before their eyes. Sage waved them goodbye from her bed and passed out again as the door closed.

             During dinner, as James poked at his potatoes, he thought about Sage. He knew she wasn’t feeling well, but her not being at dinner just made him worried because he wouldn’t be able to know if she got his note or not and what she thought.

             As he smushed a bit of potato with his fork, a piece of parchment floated down onto the table right in front of him, almost landing on his plate. James looked around as he picked it up, trying to see who had sent it. His eyes found Sage’s usual spot at the Hufflepuff table – she wasn’t there, but he knew who’d sent it – Wendy, who was staring right at him and winked when their eyes met.

             James looked back down at his hand, the note clutched between his fingers. He unfolded it slowly, heart beating wildly, eyes scanning the words written in Sage’s loopy handwriting.

 

              _I’d love to see you try. It’s waiting for you._

 

             James, heart bursting and face burning, let out a love-stricken sigh. He folded the note up again and placed it in his pocket where he knew he would not lose it and joined in with the conversation his mates were having, hopeful.


	9. Nine

             That Sunday, after Sage had downed about thirty different cures to her random sickness and thus completely recovered from her illness, was the date of the Quidditch game where Slytherin would go up against Ravenclaw. Sage, being the Hufflepuff captain, was going with Wendy and Wendy’s (now) girlfriend, Diana. The group of girls had no feelings one way or the other for the game’s outcome, and were basically going to enjoy themselves (Sage was also going to spy on the Slytherins’ tactics).

             Sage got ready that morning with the chilly weather in mind. She headed over to her sweaters, digging through them to decide which would be the best. The green one? No, that would be showing too much support for one side. The orange? No, she did not like that colour on her skin tone…

             She spotted a sweater she had somehow forgotten she had beneath the orange one. She pulled it out, coming face-to-face with James Potter’s Quidditch sweater. How had she forgotten she had it? What a thing to forget… Well, she couldn’t _wear_ it… that would be like she had stolen it.

             So, Sage folded the sweater back up, vowing to herself to give it back to him soon. _Maybe tomorrow,_ she thought as she stared down at the folded fabric. It was really quite pretty, with the scarlet and gold of Gryffindor’s colours knitted together...

             Without even thinking about it, Sage brought the sweater up closer to her face, taking a big breath in through her nose. Almost melting at the familiar scent, the girl forced herself to stop _swooning_ and put the sweater back. As she shoved it back into her closet, she noticed a hint of purple - the lilac sweater James had made her.

             Well, this one she had not stolen! It was fine to wear it, wasn’t it? It would show James she really did like the gift he’d given her for Christmas.

             But her heart was beating wildly as she considered it - would it be too strange? What would he think? Would he recognize it, even? What if he thought she was being creepy and she was obsessed with him or something?

             Oh, _this is impossible!_ Thought Sage, scolding herself. _He made you this sweater and you’re too scared to wear it? It was a gift! He won’t think it’s strange!_

             In an act of defiance toward herself, Sage pulled the sweater over her head and tried desperately not to blush. Her heart continued to hammer in her chest as she looked at the sleeves on her arms (uneven) and realized she was wearing something James Potter had put time and effort into. He had sat down for hours just to knit this sweater, and now she was wearing it! It should not have felt as intimate as it did, but she was seventeen, and he was cute.

             Heading to breakfast and still blushing, Sage shuffled her feet and had her hands shoved in her pockets, brow furrowed as she was deep in thought (only about the Quidditch game, of course). Giddy, Wendy was enjoying herself instantly, rushing over to the Gryffindor table and greeting Diana excitedly. Sage hung back a bit awkwardly, feeling quite like a third wheel. Wendy tried to make her feel otherwise, but it was of no use - her attempts to include Sage in their conversation proved fruitless and even more awkward, resulting in Sage picking up an apple and pretending to be very interested in it. _Nice red colour, smooth and shiny. Good apple, very interesting._

             As they walked to the game, Sage moved slower than the girls, letting them have some space to enjoy each other’s company. She kicked at the snow, pressing her lips together and wishing she was somewhere else (like on her broom, about to play in the Quidditch game herself).

             Sage, hands in her coat pockets, chewed on her bottom lip as she watched her feet sink through the snow with every step she took. She tuned out the rest of the world for a bit, just enjoying being outside (not the cold, though) until someone tapped her on the shoulder and fell in step with her.

             “Hey,” James Potter said slyly. Sage looked him over; he was wearing his Gryffindor scarf atop his coat, along with a knit hat that covered up much of his messy hair.

             “Hey, James.” Sage’s face was red, partially from the cold and partially from his presence. She was suddenly very glad she had her coat on, at it buttoned up meant he could not see the sweater she wore, that she was suddenly extremely aware she was wearing.

             “We’re here too,” Peter said from behind her, making her turn and see James’ friends following them. “Just so you’re aware.”

             “Hello to the rest of you, then,” Sage laughed, turning back around. “How are you all?” Directing her words behind her, the Hufflepuff clenched her fists in her pockets, hoping to warm them more.

             “My uncle died.” Sirius said these sad words quite cheerfully, causing Sage’s head to tilt slightly.

             “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, uncertain.

             “Eh, it’s fine. He was a prick. I’m getting a lot of money, though, so I can stop mooching off the Potters.” Sirius said this in a joking manner, but something hidden in his tone bothered Sage.

             “You’re not mooching. We want you to be happy,” James said. The placement of people as they walked changed, so now Sage was side-by-side with Sirius.

             “What do you mean?” Sage questioned, glancing at the boy beside her.

             “Sirius has been living with me and my family over the summer.”

             “Okay.” Sage said, nodding. She wanted to ask ‘why,’ but figured if Sirius wanted to tell her, he would. It seemed personal, and she didn’t want to pry.

             James let out a sigh, “we’ve got to do something big together this summer, though.”

             “Hell yes, we do!” Sirius smiled wide. “I’m thinking we break things and cause mayhem.”

             James nodded, “I agree. Mischief and mayhem, along with a complete disregard for authority and blatant ignorance of rules.”

             “You know, I’m pretty sure McGonagall's said that exact same thing while she scolded you,” said Remus. James snorted.

             “I can’t believe she still tries that ‘the worst thing I’ve ever seen’ thing. It’s like every time we’re in her office, she’s saying ‘in all my years at Hogwarts, I’ve never seen such blah blah.’” Sirius imitated the Transfiguration professor using a high-pitched voice significantly different from his own. “It’s like she’d forgotten the last five, six years. Even just last week, I had to tell her ‘you’ve seen us blow up a greenhouse, you _really_ think us sneaking into the kitchens at night is the ‘worst thing’?’”

             “It’s a tactic, you see-- she’s trying to guilt us into behaving. Unlikely.” Peter grinned, leaned forward.

             “Exactly,” said Sirius, nodding. He smiled for a second before his brow furrowed and he seemed to realize something. “Hold on, why’re you alone?”

             “All my friends either don’t like sports or don’t like watching sports with me because I get - their words - ‘too excited’ and ‘don’t know how to chill out’ and I ‘never stop talking about random Quidditch facts.’” Sage, utilizing air quotes, felt the bones in her fingers shiver out of her pockets, prompting her to shove them right back in the warm places when she was done with them. “So, like, fuck them.”

             “What about Greene?” asked Sirius, chuckling. He glanced at James out of the corner of his eye and used up all of his self-control in not laughing when he saw how utterly infatuated the boy looked.

             “Wendy,” Sage began, sounding much more bitter than she intended to, “is on a date.”

             She took her hand out of her pocket again to point ahead, there they could spot the dark-skinned girl holding hands with her brand-new significant other. Sage sighed as she put her hand back in her pocket, “okay, so it’s not a _real_ date, but... it’s practically morphed into one.”

             “That’s rough, buddy,” said Remus, patting Sage’s shoulder empathetically.

             “Eh,” shrugged Sage, “she didn’t _mean_ to ditch me, so...”

             “She still ditched you.” Sirius cracked his knuckles casually, Sage nodding in response, her lips pursed.

             “She still ditched me.” With a dramatic sigh, Sage continued, “I will be okay, though. I can live with commentating on the game only for myself. Or I can try to find people I know who won’t kill me.”

             Sage fell deep in thought, wondering if Jet, the 7th year Hufflepuff Beater, was there. Perhaps Mike, Jet’s 6th year counterpart, would be okay... nah, Sage didn’t quite like Mike’s friends (they had mean senses of humor and enjoyed very nasty gossip - Sage didn’t understand why Mike was friends with them, as he was nice). Perhaps it wouldn’t be too strange to join Kimi, Hufflepuff’s youngest Chaser (a third-year) and her friends...

             “Merlin, Prongs, are you going to ask, or should I?” with a dejected, tired sigh (and a ‘ _do I have to do_ everything _myself?!_ ’ tone), Sirius cut Sage out of her concentration, bringing her back to the real world (a good thing, too, as she nearly just tripped!) with his whining at James.

            “Padfoot, shut up--”

            “Fuck, Potter, you really are thick sometimes.” Sirius rolled his eyes, moving to address Sage much kinder than he had James, who was shaking his head in offence.

            “Sage,” he said, slow, as if he were demonstrating to James how to talk to her. Sage smiled, eyebrows raised, as he continued. “Would you like to hang with us - particularly James, as you two both-- _not going to say that_ \--” Sirius regulated himself, a sure sign whatever he wanted to say was truly terrible (it was), “let’s say... _enjoy_ Quidditch to the same degree?”

            “Are you sure?” she asked as she stepped into a particularly high clump of snow. “I don’t want to intrude.”

            This, of course, made no sense, as she had been invited and was completely fine with bothering _other_ people _without_ an invitation. Still, it was only polite.

            “Hang with us, Sage,” said Sirius, as if he was tempting her. “We won’t shun you for being excitable about sports - James has numbed us all.”

            As it turned out, James had _not_ numbed them all enough. Perhaps they would be fine if it was one of the two - they could deal with the excitement of just James or just Sage - but _both_? Five minutes into the game, they had not just added their energies together – they amplified each other’s, multiplying it. They both had a lovely time, glad there was finally someone who got just as eager as them.

             But the other three were dying. Being at a game with James and Sage was like giving a toddler an espresso and a bag of sugar and setting them loose. They did not regulate each other - no, they hyped each other up - but they did help so instead of turning to someone else to be excited and yell something about how “did you _see_ that?!” they turned to each other.

             But the joint, multiplied energy… Sirius and Remus had to keep each other from death, with Peter acting as moral support (he kept leaving - he said he had to go to the bathroom, but there was the suspicion that he was just turning the corner where they could not see him before just standing there to get away).

             One would, if going off the energy James and Sage gave off, think the game was one for the ages - something to tell grandchildren epic stories of, recorded in the history books for generations to come.

             But, as Sage said once the game had finished, “that was pretty uneventful.” (The boys, minus James, then groaned loudly and for multiple seconds. One of them - it doesn't matter who - made the comment, “wouldn’t’ve thought so.”) She was not wrong - for most of it, Slytherin was in the lead, only to fall behind and lose when the Ravenclaw Seeker caught the snitch.

             As forgettable as the game was, Sage walked away from it knowing she would remember it, if not just for how great of a time she’d had doing something she loved with someone who loved it just as much as her.

 


	10. Ten

             A war was approaching. Two sides - each with their own agenda - were coming head-to-head, ready to fight (to the death if necessary) with the sole intent of coming out on top. Some of those who would take part would enjoy the fight, while some only wanted the win. Both would give all their time, all their energy, all their souls, to win this.

             There was only so much preparation that could occur. Training was rough - brutal, even - but had to stop. There was only so much to learn and only so much time to learn it by. Battle approaching, there was one thing to do: hope.

             The Hufflepuff v. Gryffindor Quidditch game was on the horizon, what was sure to be so wild, someone could write a whole book on it.

             Sage was dead worried - on the day before the game, she _knew_ , like mentioned, there was nothing else she could do to practice. She had pushed her team so much, even if they had the time to do more prep, it would do nothing helpful - they would end up exhausted, floating through the game like zombies.

             Yes, of course, Sage was not _obsessed_ with the idea of winning. She was one of those for whom the best part was the game itself. She just loved to play - if they won, that just made it even better.

             Sage knew the best thing she could do was relax, clear her mind, and rest up for the game tomorrow. To soothe herself, she figured there was nothing better to do than visiting the greenhouses; working with plants always calmed her. She loved the feel of the earth- it gave her some kind of warm energy. There must have been something about soil that matched something in her soul.

             So, homework done, she waved goodbye to her roommates and walked out. As she went through the common room, she made eye contact with her youngest player - a third-year Chaser named Kimi. Kimi sat on a couch with a friend, laughing about something. Sage smiled and gave the girl a thumbs-up before she ducked out of the room, glad she was not the only one trying to chill before the intense game.

             It was not fifteen minutes later when she stood, dirt all down her front, earmuffs tightly over her ears, repotting mandrakes for one of Professor Sprout’s younger classes. The professor herself was dealing with a branch of bowtruckles, trying to convince the creatures to move from one branch to another so she could trim up the one they were all congregated on. Once Sage’s mandrakes were all repotted, covered in soil as to stop their screaming, she walked over to Professor Sprout, placing a hand on her shoulder. The woman jumped and turned around, hand over her heart, smile on her face. Sage signaled to her she could take off her earmuffs.

             “Sorry about that, Professor.”

             “It’s no problem, my dear. Keeps me on my toes.” She flashed a grin that gave Sage a wave of relief - she was glad the professor was not angry (she knew it was unlikely for her to be so, but still, she worried). Sprout then changed the subject, “are you feeling better about the game tomorrow?”

             “Yeah,” Sage said. When she had come to the greenhouses, she told Sprout all about her anxieties ( _Gryffindor was really good! They would be a challenge! Ahh!_ ) but after working with the earth, she felt a world better. “I think we’re going to do well. Even if we don’t, it’ll be nice playing against such a good team.”

             Professor Sprout nodded, “have you ever thought about becoming a professional Quidditch player?”

             Sage shrugged. “I know I have a lot of options, and I know I need to figure out what I want to do soon, but for now… I don’t.”

             “That is perfectly fine, dear. I didn’t really know I wanted to be a teacher until Dumbledore asked me to be one.” The teacher patted her on the arm reassuringly, making Sage feel better. “Now, I think you’ve done enough work here, why don’t you head on back to the castle?”

             Nodding, Sage stepped away from her favourite teacher. In a daze, she took off her gloves and apron, and brought herself and her things to back to the castle, walking slowly through the corridors. She was deep in thought as she headed to the Hufflepuff Basement. Turning into the hall outside of the common room and the kitchens, Sage decided she might as well stop by the kitchen.

             To her surprise, she was not the only student there. A sandy-haired boy was leaning on a counter, his back to her. He wore his uniform, but his cloak on the counter next to him. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms, white skin standing out to her.

             Sage walked closer, trying to figure out more things as she noticed them. The cloak was obviously a Gryffindor’s… he was quite tall… could it be Remus Lupin? Sage noticed the scars littering the visible parts of his skin and thus knew it was Remus.

             “Hello.” Sage popped up right next to the boy, making him jump (she seemed to be doing that a lot today) and swear quite loudly (and nastily), his long limbs flailing around for a second before he stilled and looked at her, shaken but okay.

             “Fuck, Sage!” he said, trying to calm his heart, “give me a heart attack, why don’t you?” Sage was worried he was mad for a second, but then she noticed a smile working itself onto his face.

             “Sorry.” Faced scrunched up apologetically, Sage watched the boy’s demeanor change. It seemed, in her observations, that Remus had a habit of hiding his inner self around her and many others. The Remus he showed the Marauders, the real Remus, was not the same person as the one she and the rest of the world saw.

             Remus, in public, was a quiet and polite boy, because that was the way he was supposed to be. He never really spoke to people without reason, and when he did, it was obviously well-thought-out, chosen words.

             But sometimes, like when he swore in the heat of the moment Sage scared him, Remus became a whole new person. The quiet boy at the back of the class was actually whispering clever jokes to his friends. He had quite a sarcastic sense of humor, though he still appreciated the dumb jokes his friends made. She had really gotten to know the kind of humor he liked over the holidays, as whenever she read him a passage from the space cowboy/vampire novel she had been reading.

             He would often burst out laughing at the terrible writing, but stop, as if he was scolding himself. Sage had noticed that when his friends were in a fit of laughter, he would usually stay silent. A smile, while his mates laughed loud and wild, but then James or Sirius would catch his eye - they gave him a _look_ , and his resolve melted. He would lose his serious persona - it wouldn’t be strange for him to snort, laughing louder and for longer than anyone.  Sage wished the happy and carefree Remus was around more.

             “It’s okay,” Remus chuckled, a polite smile on his face. “What brings you to the kitchen? I presume it has to do with food of some kind?”

             Sage smiled and hopped up onto the counter he was now standing next to, her legs hanging off the edge. “Yeah. I’m looking for something to eat in the middle of the night later. What about you?”

             “I’m actually hiding from someone,” Remus said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed to notice his sleeves were pulled back and his arms were on display and quickly pull the fabric down to hide the many scars (some old ones, faded and tan, as well as a few new ones which were still red) littering his skin. “There’s a, uh, a Ravenclaw girl who seems to be very… persistent in her desire to ‘ _talk_ ’ to me.”

             “So, you came all the way down to the kitchen?”

             “I also wanted chocolate.”

             “Ah.” Sage smiled as a house elf came up and asked what she wanted. “Can I please have an apple?”

             “Of course, Miss!” The house elf ran off before quickly returning with a large, juicy, red apple in her hands.

             “Thank you,” taking the fruit from the elf, Sage placed it into her bag.

             “It’s my pleasure, Miss!” Scurrying off, the house elf left the two teenagers alone.

             “How long ’re you planning to stay here?” Sage asked, swinging her legs gently.

             Remus shrugged, “probably another 10 to 15 minutes. Just to be sure.” (He really wished he had the map with him, so he could see if she was still around or if she would be in his way. If he ran into her, he would _have_ to talk to her, and the way she was, he would probably only walk away after she’d scheduled a date.)

             “That long?” Sage asked.

             “Like I said, she’s _really_ persistent.” He cracked his knuckles, glancing at the floor.

             “I’ll keep you company.” Remus’ head snapped up, his eyebrows both raised and furrowed.

               “Oh no, you don’t have to--”

             “Of course, I don’t _have_ to, but I _want_ to,” Sage sighed, looking at the scarred boy. “Unless you’d prefer me go? I just assume talking with someone would make time pass faster.”

             “No, I’m totally fine with the company, just… I don’t want to be a bother.” He pursed his lips. Sage waved him off.

             “Nonsense,” she said. Deciding to move the conversation along, she decided to help pass the time by telling him about something she had experienced recently. “I found another trashy teen novel.”

             Remus’ attention was totally focused on her, a smile climbing on his face as she began to tell him about the awful book (it was about an animagi man whose animal form was a shark falling in love with a mermaid). She quoted the book at one point, something that made him snort. It was a lovely sound, absolutely authentic, and caught both him and her completely off-guard. He took in a deep breath to recover, coughed awkwardly, and told her to keep going, hand over his mouth this time.

             Remus Lupin was hot cocoa sipped through subtle smirks. He was oversized sweaters, neatly-worn ties, and sacrifice. He was the act of rolling eyes, of laughing at a cleverly dumb joke. He was a silent longing, a wish for something more while still grateful for what was already had. He was each and every single scar covering his skin - something that came from living through horrific ugliness. He was running fingers down book spines and walking through a silent library. He was picking at already short nails. He was looking up at the moon and feeling small.

             Every time he smiled at Sage, she saw something in him, something that did not happen naturally. He was not meek - not by nature. Remus Lupin was sass, sarcasm, quick-wit, cleverness, held back by _something_. _Something_ had happened to him that made him look at himself - his natural, funny, (maybe a little mean) unhinged self - and hold it back. The something had its arms wrapped around the true Remus’ waist. It _pulled_ , _yanked_ him - he was only released after a fight, and was soon caught again.

             “No, but that had to be worse!” Sage giggled, leaned forward, arguing with a smiling Remus. He’d rolled up his sleeves again.

             “Yeah, if you forget about the part where they actually _have sex_ , and he is ‘healed’ by her ‘secret flower’ that is, somehow, the ‘purest’ thing in the world.” This conversation was very strange. “And all the sudden, he isn’t a vampire anymore. I just… I don’t get it.”

             “Maybe it’s a metaphor,” said Sage, more of a question than anything.

             “For _what_?” Remus spoke with his hands, face full of various amusing and dramatic expressions.

             “...religion? Fuck, I don’t know.” It was hard to talk while laughing, a problem Sage was facing head-on. “But then we _have_ to talk about the _imagery_ in this book - like, _come on_.”

             “Ugh, don’t even get me started - do you know how many different terms and words she used to describe his dick? I do, because I counted, and she doubles up a lot of times, but there were _twenty-seven_.”

             “Twenty-seven?!” Sage had thought the number was high, but _damn_. “Twenty-seven different ways to refer to a dick? Merlin, I don’t think I could even come up with _ten_.”

             “It’s a little impressive in that way, isn’t it?” Remus scrunched up his nose, “I mean, it’s still _terrible_ , but you have to give her some credit for her… extensive vocabulary.”

             “She’s certainly good at _creating_ imagery, even if it’s _unpleasant_. It’s unpleasantly vivid.” She shivered, then, “if I’d known virgins had the ability to cure vampirism…”

             “What, you would’ve used your ‘secret flower’ to rid a ‘poor soul’ - a.k.a. an edgy, cool, leather-jacket-wearing guy in an alleyway - from the ‘plague of darkness’?” Remus teased, something Sage almost took seriously, but could not - she burst out laughing, doubling over as Remus giggled, his nose scrunched up. “It’s something you can do, apparently!”

             Sage took a minute or so to calm from her laughing before she remembered why they were in the kitchen, hanging out there – it was a weird place to hang.

             “How long has it been?” asked Sage – it felt like five minutes, but she knew it must’ve been more. “Do you think you think she’s still out there, on the prowl?”

             Remus chuckled as he checked his watch, an impressed expression appearing on his face. “Huh – it’s been half an hour.”

             “Has it really?” That was much more than Sage felt it was, and then turned anxious – she needed to get back home, soon, to the Hufflepuff Basement (though, luckily, the kitchens were right next door). “If she’s still out there, waiting for you, I’d say just go out with her - you might as well.”

             “Maybe,” he smiled, standing up straighter. “I should get back, though. This was nice – thank you for hiding out with me, Sage.”

             “It was my pleasure, really.” Sage grinned as she said this, and really meant it – Remus was a delight to hang out with and talk to.

             Hopping off the counter, Sage moved closer to the door as he picked up his things and joined her. Opening the door, Sage walked outside with Remus behind her before they parted ways, both still smiling as they made their ways back to their respective houses.

             Sage went to bed and had a dream about merpeople and broomsticks (a terrifying combination, she learned, after waking up in a cold sweat. The last thing she could remember in her dream was a merperson shrieking as they zoomed toward her, reaching out their webbed hand to grab her. She looked down to realize she had forgotten to wear pants just as the merperson grabbed her hair.)

 

             The day started out way better than Sage expected it to. She woke up, dressed (she made sure to wear pants), and headed to the Great Hall for an early, healthy breakfast. Some of her teammates joined her, talking about anything but the game.

             Sage was in the middle of taking another bite of eggs when the Gryffindor team walked into the Hall, looking quite cool and coordinated. They were walking in a kind of formation, moving like a clique in a teen-girl movie (unnaturally coordinated and looking very tough). They were about to walk by when the head of the group, their captain (Ryan Mouse, Keeper, seventh year) stopped them to talk to Sage and her (almost complete) team.

             “Looks like it’s going to rain soon. Sucky weather to play in,” Ryan told Sage, whose brow was raised and had a small smile on her face.

             “That’s the weather for you,” she said after swallowing. Her eyes shifted to where James was standing, giving him a look as if to ask him _‘is this for real?’_

             “Either way, hope it’s a good game.” Crossing his arms, Ryan gestured to his team to keep walking, making them start to move together, looking wildly coordinated.

             “Yeah, good luck!” Sage tried to tell Ryan as he walked off, his face blank. She made eye contact with James, who looked at her confused but amused expression. She looked at him as if asking for an explanation, but he just shrugged and kept walking.

             The team made their way to their table, sitting down in sync. The Hufflepuff team looked at their captain, who looked at them, just as confused as they were.

             “Okay, that was super weird,” Sage said, making the others nod and voice agreements.

             “Do you think that was an intimidation tactic? What did they mean by that?” Sunny Lance (Keeper, fifth year) asked, putting down her toast.

             “I honestly have no idea. I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Sage glanced over at the other team, who seemed less stiff now, laughing at something as they ate together. “Gryffindor isn’t known for playing dirty, just… good. I mean, unless it’s against Slytherin… I don’t _think_ it was hostile, so let’s just go on like normal, alright?”

             So, they finished their breakfast and headed down to the pitch, trying to ignore how weird the Gryffindors were.

             “I mean, Gryffindors take Quidditch _really_ seriously…” Sage said as they walked down the path to get there.

             “Don’t we?” Kimi Bell (Chaser, third year) asked from the front of the group.

             “Yeah, but like… so instead of this team’s prioritizing doing your best and enjoying yourself, they’re more focused on… the competitive aspect. Like, if we lose, its okay as long as we tried hard and had fun. Their mood is more… when they lose, their captain tries to drown themselves by taking 8-hour long showers.” Sage explained, making the younger girl nod.

             “That makes sense,” Kimi said as they reached the pitch.

             “Alright, you all know the drill. Meet after changing to go over our game plan one last time.” Sage directed the team to the changing room, heading in herself.

            Eventually, the team made their way onto the field where the Gryffindors met them. In the crowd, banners and signs for both sides littered the hands of fans. The captains shook hands as Sage smiled and Ryan stood stone-faced. Just before the game started, Sage made eye contact with James. They mirrored each other, smirks on both of their faces.

             “And the balls are in the air! Gryffindor’s Nate Haki takes possession of the quaffle, already zooming down to Hufflepuff’s goalposts…” Ray Palmer, as always, gave the game’s commentary.

             “Oh, the weather’s started up now-- it’s supposed to end up pouring, that’ll make it hard for both seekers to see the snitch… Kimi Bell is hot on Haki’s tail, Sage Charles behind her… Haki mak-- oh, Bell’s stolen the quaffle…”

             The game turned long and miserable. The rain had indeed gotten worse, making every player get soaked. Both seekers were having a tough time seeing through the rain, neither spotting the small golden ball. This meant the game lasted quite a while, so both teams grew exhausted.

             “There’s Charles heading toward Gryffindor…” Ray said, having a challenging time seeing, himself. “She throws the quaffle, scoring ten additional points for Hufflepuff, bringing them into the lead with 60-50. It’s anyone’s game...”

             “Oh, there goes Amos Diggory! He’s spotted the snitch, it seems!” Ray seemed quite relieved about this (his voice was getting tired). “He’s followed closely by Link Dominic… Dominic’s taken the lead… And he’s-- oh, he’s caught the snitch! Gryffindor gains 150 points, winning the game 200-60!”

             The teams both touched down, spending a lot less time celebrating on the field than they would’ve because of the pouring rain and almost liquid ground. But still, during the minute they were out, Sage rushed over to congratulate Ryan Mouse (who was crying with joy, but nobody was able to tell with the rain). Once she did this, she wasted no time in turning around, starting to jog through deep mud back into the changing rooms. She was stopped, though, by someone who grabbed her arm.

             James was grinning at her, totally soaked (except for his glasses, which were charmed to repel water) with his black hair sticking to his skin while still flying up in multiple directions (most notably, in the back, where it always stuck up).

             “Hey,” he said, taking his hand off her and brushing some of his wet hair away from his forehead.

             “Oh, congratulations, James.” Sage, smile on her face, was ready to get the fuck out of there. James looked really, _really_ nice with the water soaking him and the grin he always had after winning, but she was _also_ wet and starting to freeze (and, if she was honest, she was feeling pretty shitty after losing the game, no matter how much she preached it was all about the game, not the win. Fuck that - she still wanted to _win_ ).

             James Potter was truly himself then - he was the feeling of winning something worked _so hard_ to achieve – what he felt then. He was doing what was right because it was the only option. He was old jerseys and brand-new jeans, purposefully-messy hair and pearly-white grins. He was stolen glances and the love of the chase. He was contagious laughter and light mood. Bonfires and broomsticks, sly moves and snide glances, the act of being proud. He was being a prince without a crown and charming smiles. He was wit and cleverness all used to amuse and annoy. He was character development, sticking by friends until the end and being happy to do so. He was a force, unchained. Disco personified, an adventurer. He was a god of tricks, nobility, and sex. He was saving himself and everyone around him. He was red-hot skin above a smirk.

             And he was, at that moment, full of nerve.

             “I wanted--”

             “Sage!” Jet Harski (beater, 7th year) shouted from a few meters away, signalling to Sage to come inside. As he was cut off, James swallowed - he was relying on the high from the win to give him even more of that good ol’ Gryffindor bravery, and if she ran off then, it’d vanish. He just _needed_ to do this then, if not because he needed the bravery because _fuck_ , watching her play was _intoxicating_. She would have the Quaffle under her arm and zoom past him and he would die a little.

             “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” turning to go, Sage shouted back, “congratulations again!”

             James stood there as she ran off, watching her rush away and into shelter. He suddenly felt much colder than before, his chest still buzzing from the excitement of the win, as he walked in the opposite direction as her, moving inside with his own team to get warmer, the sound of cheers and pouring rain guiding him.

 

             Sunday was spent on homework. It was exhausting work, really, and by the time Sage finished, the day was nearing turning into night. As she was done, she had nothing to do, really, and decided she might as well kill time with a walk around the castle (this was probably a bad idea, and she would probably end up getting lost or running into Peeves, but she didn’t quite care.

             The walk turned into ‘sitting on a bench in a courtyard.’ She was alone - where other people were, she didn’t have a clue - as she looked up. The sky was beautiful as it began to darken for the night; clouds decorated it without obscuring anything. A breeze passed by, brushing her, causing her to hold her arms close for a few seconds. It vanished and, once again, she was nothing but a little chilly.

             Sage’s brain went off on its own for a while. A daydream version of herself flew across the twilight sky, floating around clouds. Her hand reached down and grazed the pink sheen. Instead of doing what it was expected as vapor - shifting at her touch - it stayed still. It was solid, she learned - a pillow. So, she threw herself off her broom and-- someone sat down next to her.

             Sirius Black was looking at her curiously, hair looking perfect and leather jacket stylish, his deep grey eyes transfixed on her. “What’re you thinking about?” he asked, stretching his legs out in front of them.

             Sage shrugged, “nothing, really.”

             “Really? You seemed pretty deep in thought.”

             “I’m pretty high.” This was a true statement.

             “Ah.” Sirius said, a grin on his face. He was silent for a second. Then, “honestly? Me too.”

             “Far out.” Sage smiled at him before she beheld the sky again. “What do you think it’s like, being a cloud?”

             “Sad,” he said after a second. “I mean, you’ve got a pretty short lifespan, and you’re doomed to be an observer your whole life. The only time you get to be a part of the lives of people is when you’re falling down to earth as a new thing.”

             “That’s pretty deep.” Sage sighed, “I was thinking it’d be pretty cool to see the world through a cloud’s eyes. But they don’t have eyes, so I guess… I dunno.”

             There was silence for a minute as the two of them stared up at the sky as it continued to get darker. Sirius looked at the Hufflepuff next to him before he sighed and spoke again.

             “James is a really great guy,” he said, taking a deep breath in. Sage watched his smile run away from his face, this and the tone of his voice alluding to his sincerity. Why he sounded so solemn when paying James a compliment, Sage did not know.

             “I know.” This was all Sage could think to say as she crossed her legs, leaning forward. Sirius ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall to the side of his face. He really did look sincere – sober, even – as he spoke.

             “He comes off as kinda arrogant and… I dunno, like he can’t be sincere, but…” There was something living in his grey eyes - like the grey of his iris was smoke, breathed out from a mouth which then went on to talk smack and give cheeky smirks. The smoke was covering something – something deeper, the thing alive. She caught a glimpse of it, then, and recognized it. She knew what it was, that thing living behind his eyes, and wished it would leave him. Sirius Black had his faults – he was overdramatic, brazen, even a little obnoxious – but, _fuck_ , he didn’t deserve to hold onto and to be the host of trauma.

             Sirius Black was trouble - black leather jackets and cigarettes, cheeky winks and barking laughs. His hair was long and perfect, his eyes grey and stormy. He was his eyes – full of light, an obvious sparkle, while housing a brewing storm. He was looks which somehow both enticed and screamed ‘keep away.’ He was loud, angry music with lyrics full of passion against passion, an anarchist who stared out at a black, moonless sky and watched smoke rise from between fingers and out of lungs.

             “My family sucks.” When Sirius said these words, Sage knew he was opening himself up to her – he was blowing away the smoke, and she felt both honored and scared. He was telling her something bad, she knew, and she feared what it would be. The mention of ‘family’ hit home and almost made her shiver.

             “Always have. Always will.” The pause as he looked into the distance was dramatic, yes, but not how he usually was. This was not for the purpose of amusement, of entertainment. This was authentic – he was picking and choosing the right words, finding the best way to tell her his truth. “I hated them – hated the way they were, how they acted, what they believed – they were those type of people who think those who aren’t of pure blood aren’t worthy of life. They had a set plan for me, just like the rest of my family. It was organized around the idea of me being ‘ _better_ ’ somehow – like I was royalty just because I had been ‘lucky’ to be born into my bloodline.

             “I didn’t want to do what they told me to. They showed me my life, planned out the way it was supposed to be, and I didn’t want it. But I couldn’t tell them that – I couldn’t do anything but start to hate them all. Then, of course, I turned eleven and was sent to Hogwarts. They told me to get into Slytherin, just as they all had. I didn’t. They didn’t appreciate that.

             “I turned into the Black family’s black sheep. I dunno, I guess I figured if they already hated me for being a Gryffindor, I might as well say ‘fuck it all.’ So, I rebelled against them. Argued with them for no reason - I did things just to make them mad. At some point, I had a shrine to Godric Gryffindor in my room just because they were all such die-hard Slytherins. I disagreed with them and I told them so – I’d talk back, and every time, I’d ignore the consequences they delivered to me because I just couldn’t live like that – I couldn’t _not_ say anything, no matter how much I got hurt because of it.

             “They hated it, the way I acted—they hated me. And they did everything they could think of to get me to change, to stop being such a burden, a waste of good blood. I brought shame to my family and they tried to shame me into being the perfect, pure-blooded, cousin-marrying, Slytherin boy they wanted me to be. But I wasn’t. So they hurt me.

             “The Marauders knew all about it – figured it out early on. I think James was the first, actually – he found me crying in my bed the first night here and slowly started to figure it out. They tried to help, to do everything they could—but what could they do? We were kids – we still are, really. But when you’re thirteen, all you can do is tell an adult and hope things don’t get worse. So I’d go back, every summer. There was no choice – I had to. And at the start of the year, I’d get back here, and they’d find out it had gotten worse.

             “It was like that for years. I’d go home, things would be worse, and I’d come to school and be free. There was no way out of it other than when I grew up or if I just left.

             “It was the worst with my mother. Put us head-to-head and we’d go at each other for hours. We fought nearly constantly, we both did things just to make each other mad. I got better at deflecting her comments or working around her rules – I put permanent sticking charms on the Gryffindor banners on my walls so she couldn’t take them down when she tried. And while I was getting better at tuning her out and not letting her bother me as much, I was learning how to make her madder.

             “I found out exactly what buttons to press to get her shouting, I knew just what to say to infuriate her. I was an expert at making her mad, and she hated me even more for that.

             “There was a night when I—I don’t remember what I said or what I did, but it was worse. The worst. She was the maddest I’d ever seen her, and she went above and beyond the usual punishments. She… she just fucking broke me, and I couldn’t be there anymore.

             “I ran away when I was 16. I didn’t have anywhere to go, didn’t know where I could. I had my trunk with me and I knew it was the end – I couldn’t go back. My mother had burned me off the family tree. I wouldn’t be let back into my house, so I went the only place I could think to.”

             “The Potters,” Sage guessed, voice breathless as she spoke for the first time since this monologue began. She was frozen, listening with tears in her eyes. Sirius nodded and continued.

             “Yeah. I showed up on their doorstep at… a late, ungodly hour. It took me a while to calm down, to work up the nerve to knock. I probably stood there for a half hour before I knocked on the door. It took a while, and I almost left, but James’ dad opened the door. It was like… I dunno, I’d been so uncertain, but seeing him, I was just… _better_. Not okay, not nearly, but… yeah. It took him less than a second after seeing me to get Mrs. Potter and James.

             “James took one look at me and knew. He brought me in, his mom made us hot drinks... I didn’t have to ask, didn’t have to say anything. James took his parents into the other room for about thirty seconds and came back in to tell me I was going to be living with them from then on.

             “James has always been there for me, and he will be there for me until the day he dies. He’s the best person I’ve ever met.” Sirius stopped, looking at Sage curiously. She didn’t know what to say to him, and wasn’t sure if he’d be okay with her hugging him.

             “That’s… _horrible_.” Sirius looked at her, confused but amused as she said the only thing she could think to.

             “Yeah, it’s pretty fucked up, right?” The Gryffindor smiled, letting out a chuckle, making Sage smile, too. “Anyways, you coming to James’ party?”

             “Wait, hold on—you just delivered your tragic backstory to me, baring your heart and soul, and now you, what, want to talk about parties?”

             “Pretty much, yeah.” With a shrug, Sirius had Sage sighing. Sure, that was fine. “But James’ party?”

             “...what party is this?” Sage squinted at him.

             “I’m taking that as a no.”

             “That’s probably a good idea.”

             “It’s his birthday in two weeks, so we’re having a party on that Saturday. You should come.” Sirius yawned, “I should get going. Being high makes me tired; I should go back to my room before I pass out.”

             “That’s also a good idea,” Sage said. Perhaps, she thought, she should leave, too.

             _No_. Her inner voice was strangely firm – much firmer than her other thoughts which floated around without shape. _You want to keep looking at the sky_.

             This was true. So she said her goodbyes to Sirius and watched him leave before she let her eyes fly upward, looking at the beauty of a newborn night.

             As before, her mind wandered. She imagined. This time, though, the image in her mind’s eye was not of herself doing the impossible, but rather what she saw when she thought of the story she had just been told.

             A slamming door right after a yell of “and stay out!” Sirius, sixteen, a runaway, walking down the street with his trunk behind him and his life ahead, homeless. He shows up at the Potters, beaten and bloody, and James’ father cries for help. In her version of the Potter kitchen, Sage watched Sirius find his home.

 


	11. Eleven

            Soon enough, it was the day before James’ birthday, a Saturday – the perfect day for a party. Happy and excited to be turning seventeen the next day, James spent Saturday joking around with his friends, ignoring the work he was supposed to be doing (“how could you expect me to do _homework_ on my _birthday_ , Minnie?!” James said to McGonagall on Monday when she asked for his homework. After she reminded him that he had all of Saturday to complete the work, James added, “and the day _before_ my birthday? That’s a sacred holiday!” James got detention).

             Sage spent the day working on her homework so she could have a break the next day (she did not really get one). But night fell, and the party began. As the sun vanished beyond the horizon, the disco ball was lit up. It was time to fucking _groove_.

             With Wendy accompanying her, Sage made her way to the abandoned-classroom-turned-disco where James’ party would be held. Both the girls had on cute (and very trendy) dresses, Wendy’s shining silver, and Sage’s a solid yellow (a pretty yellow! It was a little dull and earthy while still staying bright and… pretty).

             The abandoned classroom, charmed to be soundproof, would have been hard to find if it were not for the directions only students had received. Outside, the hall was empty and silent, save a few people who seemed to also be on their way to the party (though, they had been seeing people like that all over the castle) – Wendy and Sage only really knew they were in the right place when they entered and suddenly found themselves surrounded by people and the Ramones.  

             Sage immediately tried to find James. She did not put a lot of effort into it, as she didn’t want to, like, _track him down_ (as she told Wendy, “that’d be creepy!”), but she stood as tall as she could in attempts to see over the people and spot him. She even went so far as to ask a few people (two) where he was (coolly, of course – “hey, so if this is James Potter’s party, where is he? I feel I should wish him a happy birthday, you know?”), but nobody could tell her where he was. So Sage decided she should enjoy herself as much as possible, and if she happened upon James, so be it. Thus, her and Wendy went out and danced (because she _had to dance_ when ABBA started up. Come _on_.) for quite some time. But, as dancing (or any physical activity at all, really) did tire them out, they ended up floating off the dancefloor, a buzz lifting them, and moving over to the other end of the room where they found chairs and food (and alcohol. And drugs. Hopefully, no teachers found the party). Sage sat down with a firewhiskey and took a sip, prompting her whole body shiver with its heat. Wendy was about to join her when she noticed her girlfriend, Diana, standing in a corner with a butterbeer in hand, talking to some guy (Sage vaguely remembered this guy, but looking at him, _really,_ _trying_ to remember him, she felt like she’d seen him maybe once, out of school. She had the thought _does he even go here_ before she scolded and reminded herself that this was a magical boarding school, and nobody who didn’t go there could _be_ there. Still, she tried to place this person and found herself unable).

             Rushing over, Wendy waved off Sage as she offered to tag along, and slid next to Diana, whose face flashed with thanks.

             “Diana, hey!” Wendy said, pulling her in for a hug. With Diana close, she whispered into the girl’s ear, “ _do you want to get out of here?_ ”

             Before Wendy pulled away, Diana whispered back, “ _please._ ”

             “You’re that Hufflepuff, right?” Before the two of them could slip away, the person spoke again, waving a hand around weirdly. He seemed like a prick.

             “...yeah. We’re gunna just--”

             “No, no, stay!” He spoke in a manner obviously meant to be charming but really just made both girls feel uncomfortable. “Give me someone to talk to.”

             “No, my friends - they’re waiting for us,” Wendy said, trying to get away, clearly uncomfortable.

             “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” the boy said, clearly not getting it.

             “No.” Wendy took Diana’s hand, “we’re going. Goodbye.” She began to drag her girlfriend back to where Sage was sitting.

             “Sheesh, you didn’t have to be such a bitch.”

             Wendy kept walking. She could ignore things – she’d been doing so for a very long time. She was not unaffected, but she could ignore. Diana, however, could not. She dropped her girlfriend’s hand, and, in one fluid and elegant motion, punched the boy in the fucking jaw and picked Wendy’s hand up again.

             “We can go, now,” Diana said, as if nothing had happened.  Wendy give her a scolding look, but when they made their way over to Sage, she pulled her girlfriend in for a kiss.

             “That was a trip,” Sage said, smacking her lips together after taking another sip.

             “Yeah…” Wendy was staring deeply into Diana’s blue eyes. Sage, feeling awkward, took one last sip of her drink before putting it down, effectively abandoning it to go walk around. Just as she was about to go onto the dancefloor, though, the music changed, and the lights went out – save a single spotlight directed at Sirius Black, who was standing on a table. This was dramatic already and sure to be good.

             Things began to happen – very wild things literally nobody had been expecting but everyone was enjoying. These things were blowing Sage’s mind as she stood, open-mouthed, next to the dance floor. This was going to be _very_ good.

             Queen’s _You’re My Best Friend_ was playing. Sirius was dancing and singing along. It was glorious. After a bit of dancing on the table, Sirius jumped off, singing his way over to James, a crowd parting for him (“like he was fucking Moses or something and all these people were the Red Goddamn Sea,” as James would later put it). James became visible - he seemed to have been sitting and enjoying a drink, but now, he bent over in laughter that, although Sage could not hear over the music, she could tell was beautiful and pure.

             Sage found herself laughing as well as she watched Sirius pretend to moan along to the music. He ended the song by making James stand and dance along. That part was even more glorious (to the point where actual tears started leaking out of Sage’s eyes).

             The song ended, and another began to play as James and Sirius hugged, James still dying laughing. Sage smiled at this, and after noticing a couple of her friends hanging in the corner of the room getting high, she walked over to join them before dancing her heart out.

             Hours passed before a high(ish) and tired Sage decided to dash, wishing to go to bed. She had to find Wendy, who was around somewhere - probably with her mouth attached to Diana’s - before she could leave, so, she looked around, finally noticing her best friend sat in the corner, sipping some drink.

             “Are you ready to head out?” Sage shouted above the noise to her best friend who looked at Sage then at her girlfriend before nodding.

             “Yeah,” Wendy stood. “Did you say something to James?”

             “Nah. I never seemed to be able to find him. And when I could, I couldn’t get to him. I’ll just tell him happy birthday tomorrow,” Sage shrugged.

             “If you’re sure that’s what you want to do.” Saying goodbye to her girlfriend, Wendy joined Sage in her quest to get home.

             “You know, it’s disappointing.” The Scottish girl, taking Wendy’s hand to better stick together, spoke with a funny look in her eye.

             “What?”

             “They didn’t play _one_ song by the Monkees.” Wendy and her friend laughed as they reached the party’s exit, quieting down in the silent hallway.

             “Did you have a good time with--”

             “Sage!” A voice called after the both of them, loud in the empty corridor. Both girls snapped around and face a flustered James who seemed to have been running to catch up to the girls.

             “Oh, James!” Sage smiled, letting go of her friend’s hand to address the star of the party. “I tried to find you, but couldn’t quite manage to. Happy birthday! I know it’s not until tomorrow, but…”

             “Thanks,” James was now close to Sage, smiling down at her. Wendy tried to blend into the wall (it didn’t really work, as she was wearing such a statement dress, but neither of the other teens noticed her even with the silvery fabric reflecting light much like a disco ball). “Are you heading back?”

             “Yeah, I’m pretty tired.” Sage, speaking to James, started to feel guilty for not trying harder to get to him and for leaving his party without saying hello.

             “I hear you. I’m pretty exhausted myself,” James said. Wendy noticed her girlfriend and her friends exit the party, rushing over to them as slyly as possible.

             “So, are you leaving, too?” Sage, not noticing her friend until she came over to tell her she was going back to Gryffindor with Diana, asking Sage if she wanted to come, too.

             “I’ll be fine, I’d rather not be the third wheel again,” Sage waved Wendy off. James looked at the girls.

             “You could hang out with me,” he said, desperately hoping he sounded charming (he did).

             Sage looked at Wendy for a second before she said, “yeah, I guess I could.”

             A half an hour later, Sage was sat on the end of James’ bed, looking at him as he sat on the other side. It turned out that sitting in a room with a snogging couple was a bit awkward, so James offered to Sage to hang in his room, swearing to Wendy there would be _absolutely no_ funny business. And there would be absolutely _no_ funny business. (This was all leisure.)

             “So, this is James Potter’s bed,” Sage said, feeling the fabric of his blanket. It was really soft, the room really warm, and she was really tired. The walk down to her dorm was, again, turning into a journey that seemed harrowingly awful.

             “Yeah,” James, who was trying to ignore the fact that there was a _girl_ in his _bed_ , reminded himself this was not the first time he’d had a girl… here. And this time, he wasn’t even _trying_ to do anything. Not _really_ (though he did want that. _Fuck,_ he wanted that). “It’s not much, but it’s really nice. For sleeping.”

             “...right. Anyways, did you have a nice birthday party?” Sage kicked off her shoes and placed them neatly on the floor before bringing her legs up onto the bed with her (sitting modestly, as she was wearing a dress).

             “Yeah.” James was… having a hard time. “It was pretty great. Sirius’ dance number was by far the best part.” _Talking is good,_ he thought, _talking is a distraction. Don’t look at her legs._

             “That was, by far, the best thing I have ever seen in my entire godforsaken life,” Sage said, straight-faced. James grinned, adjusting how he sat.

             “I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear that.” He leaned back so now his back was against the wall and headboard, eyes looking up at the wood over his bed.

             “So…” Sage was having a hard time at this point as well. The mood of the room was getting to her, and she began to feel more awake, more _alive_. In trying to find something else to talk about, she searched her mind for a topic… and the only thing she could think of was… not something she wanted to say out loud. This was a bad idea.

             “So…” James glanced at Sage, gulping when he made eye contact with her. This was a _really_ bad idea.

             They were looking at each other on different ends of the bed, then suddenly they had met in the middle with her knee brushing against his lower thigh. His hand reached up, slowly meeting her jaw as he caressed her face. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling his fingers against her cheek.

             Neither of them moved for a second. Sage’s eyes opened, and they stared at each other, her left-hand brushing against his thigh, sending a shiver through his body. His eyes closed for a second as if he was savoring the moment before they snapped open again. Sage’s green eyes met his hazel.

             James took his other hand and moved it onto a part of Sage’s bare thigh, just under the hem of her dress. She took a shaky breath in, back straightening just as he made contact. This was a _really, really_ bad idea.

             “Can I—” speaking in a breathy voice, Sage’s words came out quiet and nervous. This was all quite awkward as well as emotional – teenage romances tended to be so. Hormones told them where to go, but they still needed help figuring out how to get there. “Can I kiss you?”

             Gulping, James nodded. His voice came out much squeakier than he would’ve liked it to, and much too desperate. “ _Please do._ ”

             Biting her lip, she looked him over for less than a second, a second which lasted far too long, motionless. A sudden movement had her sitting up, closer to him, her right hand on his head to keep it still, her left on his thigh to keep her steady, and her lips on his.

             He fell back for a second before throwing himself into the kiss, leaning forward and moving his hands onto her waist. The hair on the nape of his neck sat under her fingers for a few seconds before she moved them, burying her fingers into his hair and letting the black tufts weave between her digits. Her other hand, still on his thigh, moved to steady herself better, squeezing.

             Lips tingling and hearts beating, the two teens felt alive, intoxicated. They couldn’t get enough of each other, drinking in the other like they were firewhiskey. Minds whirling, they both wondered how far they were going to go, how far they were willing to. It did not help that they were both so enveloped in feeling and in hormones.

             But, pulling away and left breathless, they spoke to each other with hot faces. They were both quite sheepish and worried, the air around them awkward as well as steamy. It was all good though, as after a few minutes of “so, you’re here, and I’m here, and this is... well, _we’re_ here...” James finally managed, “d-do you want to, like, _snog more_ , or...?” which made Sage grin and nod, telling him an enthusiastic yes as she giggled.

             So they did so, for multiple minutes, giving each other lingering touches on thighs and on sides, until they pulled away to breathe again. James looked her over, making her face feel even hotter than it had. A sudden courage took over her (perhaps because she was in Gryffindor territory), giving her the ability to say (albeit shyly), “if you want, you can, like, touch a boob, if you want...”

             James, feeling utterly blessed, couldn’t help but joke, “only one? Ah, damn. I was hoping to go doubles - be hard to choose which one.”

             Although she bit her lip to keep herself from laughing, Sage smiled, looking away from him in attempts to keep him from seeing. Crossing her arms over her chest, she pretended to be fed up with him, letting out a “hmph!”

             Trying very desperate to keep him from noticing her smile, Sage narrowed her eyes at him. “I retract my offer then, thank you!”

             She turned, looking away from James and pouting, only to have him laugh, his hands moving to grab her arms and pull her closer. Her arms came uncrossed as he wrapped his own around her, biting back even more laughter.

             “No, no, Sage - I’m sorry, really! I’m up for it, even if it’s just one!”

             “James Potter, you arse--” Sage couldn’t help it, breaking out into laughter, the two of them laughing together, fading into giggles as Sage pulled herself away from him, only to blush and gulp. Sheepish, she placed her hands in her lap, watching him straighten up and look at her somewhat seriously.

             “But really... can I? You want me to?” he asked, eyes flashing down and back up to her face. His hands sat under his thighs, keeping them still.

             “Yeah, it’s cool.” Sage, blushing and only dying a lot, moved in closer, her arms at her sides. James grinned, pulling her in for another kiss, this one long but not as complicated as the others, their lips moving but not doing anything too fancy. His hands moved out from under his thighs, the two of them almost shivering with anticipation as he brought them to her sides, trailing them up, until they were almost under her armpits. Keeping his lips on hers, he sat up further, leaning into her more and finally... touching a boob.

             Only, he touched _two_ boobs. The rulebreaker, the mischief maker, the legend himself, the rebel to rebel from all rebels, James fucking Potter, touched TWO boobs. AND snogged the owner of said boobs _while_ he touched them, _and_ after! What a man’s man! You’ve never heard of a guy like this! He’s one in a lifetime, folks!

             AND, to top it all off, he was SWEET AS HELL! Not only was he _nice_ about these boobs (complimenting them and their owner), but he was _thankful_!

             After a while, they stopped snogging, and because they were both terribly exhausted, he told her she could sleep there, in his bed, so she didn’t have to walk all the way to her dorm. Sage put one of his Quidditch shirts on upon taking off her dress, and fell asleep against his chest, very happy and awfully warm.

 

            On Sunday, Sage woke in James’ arms. With the little light streaming in from the closed curtains around his bed, she looked up at his sleeping face and almost laughed. He looked… asleep. Really, really asleep. The kind of sleep you wake from to find drool all over the side of your face and hair flying in all directions (although this wasn’t new to him, with his hair being messy by default).

            Her hand clenched up against her chest opened as she thought of reaching to touch his face. She ultimately decided not to, as she didn’t want to wake him. Instead, she closed her eyes again. Her goal wasn’t to sleep but to savor. She took in deep breaths, inhaling what her mind referred to as ‘boy smell,’ ignoring how much it smelled like her Amortentia (almost exactly).

            Laying there for a while, breathing in, eyes closed, made her feel like she was floating. She was warm, thanks to body heat and James’ blanket that covered up to her waist - the top half of her was happy it was not covered, as then she’d most likely go from being happily warm to miserably hot. Their legs were intertwined slightly, bringing them closer together.  

            James’ eyes fluttered open a few minutes later. He was confused for a second, smacking his mouth closed and wondering why he was so hot. His brain buffered before it figured out what he was holding felt so different from a pillow because it was _not a pillow_. It was Sage. He had woken up - _on his birthday, no less_ \- with Sage Charles in his arms.

            He yawned, still tired. This caused Sage’s eyes to open again as she looked up at him, aware that he was awake. He glanced down at her, squinting for a second.

             “Hold on.” Pulling away from Sage, James yanked back one of the curtains to get to his bedside table, where he threw his hand around until he found his glasses. He placed them onto his face as she sat up, stretching her arms over her head.

             He laid back down, looking at her with a pout. She rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at him. Exaggerating a gasp, he pretended to be offended she wasn’t lying with him anymore. A flash of something mischievous appeared in his eyes before he sat up as well and quickly wrapped his arms around the girl.

             “James!” She spoke in surprise, letting out a laugh as he fell back with her laying on his chest.

             “Ha!” He had a grin on his face as Sage wiggled around in his arms for a second before stilling. She moved her head around so she could look at him, hiding the smile on her face with a frown.

             “You’ve trapped me,” she huffed.

             James hummed in response, closing his eyes happily.

             “I guess there’s nothing I can do.” Sage, looking troubled, sighed. Being as subtle as possible, she began to move her right hand, arms stuck at her sides.

             “Nothing at all.” A smile on his face, James did not notice Sage’s movements until he felt her hand against his stomach, having travelled under his shirt. He let out a gasp at the feeling of her hand against his skin, eyes snapping open.

             His arms loosened a bit, making Sage able to place her other hand on his skin, too. He let out another gasp, taking his arms away and wrapping his hands around her wrists, pulling her cold hands off his skin.

             “Cold hands off of James,” he said, looking in her green eyes. She smiled at him as he scolded her.

             “Happy birthday.”

             “Oh shit, yeah, that’s today, isn’t it?” James said, chuckling. “Thanks.”

             Sage smiled, before furrowing her brow and sitting up. “Oh, man. I should probably go tell Wendy I’m not dead.”

             James pouted again and sat up as well, pulling open the curtains around his bed. Sirius’ bed to the right of his was empty, sunlight coming through the window between the beds. Sage opened the other side of curtains, revealing Peter’s bed - empty as well.

             Upon getting up, James saw Remus’ bed: messy but empty. He looked at Sage, who was putting her shoes back on, and ran a hand through his hair. They must’ve gone downstairs already.

             “I’ll walk you,” the black-haired boy offered, looking around the floor, trying to find a pair of shoes for himself. Even though there was a whole mess of stuff on the floor (how had he not noticed how messy their room was last night? Surely, if he had, he would have tried to tidy up before bringing a _girl_ in), there were no shoes... oh, there, under his bed-- oh, no, those were Sirius’...

             “No, no, I’ll be fine.” Sage waved him off, already standing and ready to go. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, “happy birthday.” She headed out the bedroom door, leaving James to sigh to himself and dress.

 

             Wendy and Sage were sitting in the Great Hall, eating lunch, when the Marauders approached them with an invitation to join them and some other people in a friendly Quidditch game. The two girls looked at each other before agreeing. So then, 15 minutes later, Sage was in the air along with the rest of the group (minus Wendy, Peter, and another Gryffindor boy who were on the ground and cheering them on).

             There weren’t really teams. Or rules. It was a little chaotic, but everyone enjoyed themselves. When they touched down onto the ground at the end, they all felt imbued with life, talking energetically, and laughing the whole way back to the castle.

             “So, what’d you do?” Wendy asked the boys, who had all been telling the story of how they flooded the entire first floor in their third year.

             “We all took one look at McGonagall and ran off. For some reason, we thought that would help,” Remus smiled, shaking his head at his younger self. “But she found us, giving us all detention for the rest of the year.”

             “Wasn’t this only a couple months into the year?” One of the other Gryffindors asked, eyebrow raised.

             “Yes,” Peter said with a shiver. “It was horrific.”

             Everyone in the group but the four boys laughed, finding it funny. The Marauders just shared a look, silently remembering their vow to never piss off Moaning Myrtle again.

             At the end of the day, James was exhausted. He took off his glasses and sat on his bed, about to lay down when he noticed something under his pillow. It was a small brown box, tied closed with string. James, curious, put his glasses back on and untied the string, opening the box.

             There was a necklace inside on top of some paper. James took out the necklace and let it sit in his hand as he inspected it. It wasn’t very fancy, just a gold chain with a lightning bolt charm. It was strangely his style - even though he didn’t wear jewelry often. He could definitely imagine himself wearing it under clothes on a daily basis. Though he did wonder who would’ve gotten him such a thing and why they decided upon a lightning bolt. He got his answer when he took the paper out of the box and read the familiar writing scrawled upon it:

 

              _You’re really quite striking. There’s a spark between us, something quite electric. There’s thunder in our hearts. I hope you don’t bolt away in a flash, because you’re quite a ray of light._

_-Sage_

_P.S. Wendy told me this was a bad idea, but I think you’ll appreciate my jokes. Happy birthday. I know it’s not much, but I think the jokes are the real gift. Hope you have a great year until your next birthday._

 

             After a chuckle, James put the necklace on, took off his glasses, and placed them and the note on his bedside table. His head hit the pillow and he drifted off to sleep with thoughts of thunderstorms and romance.

 


	12. Twelve

             Easter break wasn’t a break. Slammed with homework, Sage spent the whole week working, Wendy by her side. The girls even spent Easter working - the only sign of the holiday was the chocolate eggs they ate while they worked.

             Soon enough, they had to get back to classes, their life falling back into its usual routine (or… as usual as a routine could get for witches living in an enchanted castle containing endless mysteries). Sage was enjoying the spring, though. She loved the many plants sprouting up and the seemingly endless rain which made the common room smell like home.

             The students began to feel closer to summer, coming up with plans and imagining what it would be like to have glorious free time. Wendy was going to visit America (“mum said we’re going to learn about American wizarding culture, but like… we don’t know everything about British wizarding culture, so that’s weird. And I don’t know how we’ll do that - she can’t really just go up to random people and ask them about magic, can she? She says we’re also going to visit her relative, but I think she just wants an excuse to go to New York. Who goes that far to visit their distant cousin?”). Sage started to brush up on her French in preparation for living with August in France (the book he’d gotten her for Christmas had turned out to be very helpful and quite good) and found she, thankfully, remembered quite a bit of it.

             Sirius Black was planning to buy both his own place with the money he had inherited from his uncle. This both excited and worried Sage. She ignored this worry as much she could and decided to expressed to him her disappointment that punk was not a very big thing in France like it was in England.

             “That’s terrible,” Sirius had said as they hung out one day by the Black Lake (they were supposed to be studying, their books open in their laps). He turned to Remus beside him, who was actually reading his book. “Can you believe that, Moony?”

             “Yeah, ‘s terrible.” Remus was not his best self, hunched over and paler than normal. His clothes hung from his body awkwardly, his lanky and thin body seeming skinnier somehow. He had told Sage he was getting sick, ‘probably just a cold.’ The full moon was the next day.

             “I was thinking of dying my hair or something - and I’ve been thinking about other shit to do, but I’m not sure, so...” Sage tapped her quill against her paper. Remus massaged his temple. “Are you sure you’re okay, Remus?”

             The boy looked up at her, trying to smile to reassure her, but failing as the pain was written obviously on his face. Sirius and James shared a look.

             “I think we should probably get him to bed.” James stood, putting his things in his bag.

             “Yeah.” Sirius mirrored James before helping Remus stand. “Peter, can you get his bag?”

             Peter, poker faced, stood and obeyed. Sage got her things together as well, walking up to James.

             “He might need to go to the Hospital Wing,” she worried, reaching a hand out to touch James’ shoulder.

             “He’ll be okay,” James insisted, “we’ll take care of him.”

             “You fucking better.” Sage looked at him sternly, “that boy is a national treasure. No harm is to come to him. If I do not see him alive and well in a couple days, I swear to Merlin, I will kill everyone on this campus and then myself.”

             “He’s not going to die, Sage.” James rolled his eyes, then looked at her reassuringly. “He’ll be fine. You look after others too much, you’ll forget to take care of yourself.”

             “I have Wendy to do that for me,” Sage joked.

             “Feel better, Remus!” She shouted after the boy who raised his arm in response. Sirius helped him walk, Remus leaning on the shorter boy who staggered along, James and Peter following. Sage looked down at her shoes for a second before she sat back down and continued her work, comforted by the fresh air and landscape, often stopping to look out in the distance (a perfect opportunity for someone to take candids of her, but she was alone).

             She looked up at the sky, admiring the beautiful blue hue and fluffy white clouds, hoping Remus would be okay.

             Her mind began to move back to the summer, where she remembered August’s last letter, in which he told her he thought he might have found a place for the two of them to live. He hadn’t mentioned much more than that, but it was enough to get the seventeen-year-old excited.

             Stopping herself from spending too much time thinking about it, Sage turned back to her work, trying not to think about Saturday, when Hufflepuff would be going up against Slytherin on the Quidditch field. Her mind didn’t seem able to let her forget that she was going to be personally targeted by Lucinda.

             Their rivalry had been dying out lately, as both girls were too busy working to focus on their distaste for each other. Sage did not doubt Lucinda would be more than happy to rekindle the flame of hatred fueling their relationship.

 

             Saturday arrived in no time, but it greeted Sage less like the expected slap on the face and more like a polite tap on the shoulder. Wendy was in full support of Sage, walking with her to breakfast in cute jeans and a yellow top (Wendy was, if one needs reminding, a fucking style icon, so it’s safe to assume she’s always looking iconic). When they arrived at the Great Hall, Lucinda was already sat down. She made eye contact with Sage and made a slashing motion across her throat. Creative.

             “Kick their asses!” A Gryffindor remarked to Sage as she walked past them, the group with them letting out cheers.

             “Thanks,” she passed by, rushing over to her team.

             “How you doing, Sage?” Jet Harski asked, taking a bite out of a sausage.

             “Surprisingly okay.” Letting out a deep breath, Sage decided to act as if this was just any regular match. Ignore the girl trying to kill her. Don’t fight back. (She was totally going to fight back.)

             “We won’t let you die, Sage,” Mike Brown reassured her from his spot next to his fellow beater.

             “But what if sh-- you know what… nevermind.” Sage stabbed a grape with her fork. “Anyways, if we play this game right, we could win the cup. Possibly. It’s all based on how Gryffindor plays the last match. If they win… Bye-bye cup. But if they _don’t_ …”

             “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Sunni Lance looked dreamily at the enchanted ceiling. “But based on their playing this year, they’re going to win.”

             “Yeah,” Amos Diggory said (luckily, things had stopped being awkward between him and Sage). “It’s not like we care about the cup, too. It’s something nice to have, but it doesn’t mean anything. Just like the House Cup.” At his mention of the House Cup, the group took in a shared, sharp breath and turned to Sage worriedly.

             Sage took a deep breath in to calm herself. She had _issues_ with the idea of a House Cup. A lot of issues. She was known to go on rants. For quite some time.

             “I mean, there’s other issues, bu--”

             “Like the idea that pitting children against each other creates less of a feeling of school unity and one of pure and utter hatred, creating unnecessary conflict?” Sage said, all in one breath, making the two people closest to her place comforting hands on her shoulders and try to calm her. “I’m fine. It’s fine.” She waved them off and took a deep breath in through her nose, closing her eyes and opening them again to look at Amos. “You are correct, Amos Diggory, but that is beside the point.

             “Today,” Sage began a motivational speech after shoving a bit of toast in her mouth and swallowing, “we play the game not for the victory, but for ourselves, because we all love the game. I won’t die, probably--”

             “Definitely,” Mike cut in. He and Jet would, in a few minutes, decide they would both… take an _aggressive_ stance for this game. “You aren’t going to die.”

             “Yeah, _sure_ , Michael.” Sage rolled her eyes before continuing, “and we will enjoy the challenge that playing against someone with a personal vendetta against me brings. Whether we win or not, it’s all groovy in the end. But, like, _try_ to win, because I will die listening to her brag about it nonstop for the next 300 years.”

             The team toasted their various beverages together, amused at their captain’s speech but all feeling ready to try their best. They all finished eating, taking their time. Before they left, Lucinda and the Slytherin team stood and headed out. Lucinda kept eye contact with Sage for an impressive amount of time (considering how to look at her, she had to walk backwards) before they vanished out of the Hall.

             So, the Hufflepuff team stood and walked out, many of the students wishing them luck. Sage led them to the pitch, glad the weather seemed nice. A bit breezy, but overall pleasant weather to play in (as long as your broom wasn’t sensitive to wind like many of those belonging to the school). Kimi pointed out a couple dark clouds on the horizon, making the team groan.

             “Wait, but if the wind is going to the south… those clouds should just keep going to the right and not head over here.” Jet noted, making Sage sigh with relief.

             “Good. I do _not_ want a repeat of our last match, this time with people who actually hate me.” She could see it - the storm from their game against Gryffindor, but instead with a friendly and fair competition, it was with a rivalry and hatred. General malicious intents paired with already dangerous weather? She would _definitely_ die.

             “So, you’ll be ready the whole time?” A worried Wendy Greene asked an equally as worried James Potter.

             “Hand on wand the whole time, I swear.” James and Wendy were expecting Lucinda to try something. Wendy, being mildly okay at wand magic, asked James (the Transfiguration and Charms master) for help with defending Sage from possible magic attacks only to discover the boy was already planning on it.

             “Alright,” Wendy said. She turned to look at Remus, who was standing behind James. “You feeling better?”

             “Yes, much.” Remus did look way better. The transformation had been a particularly brutal one, meaning he was still a bit pale and had many new scars, but his colour had returned for the most part and he was feeling well enough to go to things like this.

             “Good.” Wendy turned back to James, saying, “the whole time!” as she walked off, meeting up with some of her friends to go to the game.

             “Now, I want a nice, clean game today, if you will,” Madame Hooch sent warning looks to the team captains as they shook hands (unnecessarily hard) and scowled at each other. It was obvious Hooch knew all about their rivalry - they had fought on her field before - and she was quite aware this could get ugly, fast. They headed into position as Madame Hooch let the balls out, starting the game.

             Almost immediately after Sage took the quaffle, a bludger was sent her way. She ducked just in time to avoid it, watching Jet hit it over at the beater who had sent it, shouting an apology at Sage. The game was… an event, for sure, even in the first few seconds.

             “Charles heads to Slytherin’s goalposts, Talkalot and Ramirez seem to be ganging up on her--” Ray Palmer told the crowd, watching as the two Slytherin chasers approached Sage. She held the quaffle close to her chest as they flew on either side of her, getting closer and closer until she was shoulder-to-shoulder with them.

             “Charles tries to get them off her, heading upwards-- no luck, they’re glued on her-- quite shameful tactics if you ask me--”

             “You haven’t been, Mr. Palmer…” Professor McGonagall warned from behind the commentator.

             “Yeah, whatever… Jet Harski sends a bludger over to Ramirez, it hits her, she backs off a bit… It seems Talkalot is trying to shove Charles off her broom… Charles does not budge, throws the quaffle to Kimi Bell who rushes over to the goal… Woah! Talkalot has slammed into Charles, she’s veering to the left… She’s steadied her broom…”

             The game was easily the most brutal Sage had ever _seen_ , let alone _been in_. She ended up with a bloody nose after Mona Ramirez elbowed her in the face (this had gotten them a penalty shot Sage had made, so she was happy with the points even if she had blood running down her face) and she could feel multiple bruises forming on her body from bludgers and people who had ‘ _bumped_ ’ into her.

            At one point, Forrest Stephens shoved into Kimi Bell so hard she lost her balance and ended up falling off her broom - luckily, she kept one hand on it and was able to pull herself back up. Sage, after seeing Kimi was okay, flew over to Forrest slyly and punched him in the jaw. It had gotten Slytherin a penalty shot, but nobody cared (Ray had even said she should punch him again).

             “Talkalot makes the shot, getting Slytherin up to 30 points against Hufflepuff’s 40.” Ray reported. “...Jeremy Scott narrowly avoids a bludger… Sage Charles takes the quaffle, she’s immediately targeted by Slytherin again, Walton sends a bludger over-- Brown blocks it, sending it right back at her…

             “Simmons gets ready as Charles enters the scoring area… It’s-- she’s scored! Ten points to Hufflepuff, leading at 50-30.”

             “Mona Ramirez has the quaffle, heading towards Sunni Lance and their goalposts… Harski hits her with a bludger, she’s dropped the ball… O’Hare picks up the quaffle and rushes over to the other end of the field, Stephens on his tail… O’Hare passes the quaffle to Sage Charles… Talkalot speeds over to Charles… They’re neck-and-neck…”

            As Lucinda shoved Sage, sneer on her face, the Hufflepuff tried to ignore her, but at some point, she started shoving back. Lucinda growled and backed off a bit only to bring up her leg and shove Sage using the bottom of her boot.

             “Hufflepuff is awarded a penalty shot for that dirty tactic,” Ray said, expecting McGonagall to scold him. But she just sat, scowl on her face, watching the game.

             Sage prepared to take the shot, arm hurting from Lucinda’s kick, just as the snitch was spotted. Luz Simmons watched as Jeremy Scott and Amos Diggory raced each other, allowing Sage the opportunity to throw the quaffle into one of the unprotected hoops.

             “Charles uses the distraction to score, Hufflepuff up ten more points, leading 60-30. Diggory and Scott swerve to get to the snitch… Scott’s taken the lead… a sharp dive down by both seekers as the snitch heads toward the ground-- both speeding straight down… Oh! Diggory catches the snitch after Scott gives up on the pursuit!

             “Hufflepuff wins with a score of 210-30!”

             Sage landed on the ground along with the rest of her team, all of whom quickly come together in a group hug. Suddenly quite aware of her bodily injuries, the captain pulled away and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, some dry blood flaking off.

             After getting congratulated by multiple people, Sage watched Lucinda and her team head into the locker rooms, defeated.

             Sage did not think herself a cruel person, and if asked, she would say she was never malicious. But as she watched Lucinda shrink away in shame, defeated, she was _ecstatic_. Fuck Lucinda - she deserved to lose, and Sage _loved_ seeing her do so.

             And this, the happiness over seeing her rival fuck off after losing to her, only served to amplify her enjoyment of the win. She was pretty sure her nose had gotten fucked up again (broken, maybe) but she did not care - she was too busy feeling on the top of the world. She’d come off her broom, but she was still flying high.

             “You didn’t die!” As she threw herself onto Sage, hugging the girl forcefully, Wendy unintentionally caused Sage to wince - she was bruised all over. But Sage recovered by the time Wendy let go, grimace replaced with a grin.

             “I didn’t die, and now I feel super alive,” said Sage. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed more people approach. She recognized most of them (a few, she knew she had seen before but did not actually know), but some stood out - one more than the others. James.

             “You always do, after you’ve won. I mean, you’re always rejuvenated after flying, and more so after winning,” said Wendy. Sage was not looking at her anymore though, just shaking her head, obviously distracted, wearing a foolish grin. Wendy followed her eyes and instantly understood - Sage was grinning at James as he jogged up to them, his friends following behind him (they all walked, though - none of them were in as much of a rush as he was).

             “Hey,” he said as he slid up to them, breathless (though Wendy assumed this was not from the jog). He and Sage wore identical grins as they met, their shared looks letting Wendy know she was suddenly invisible to them.

             “Hey.” Sage responded in the same breathless voice, her heart racing.

             “You won.” This was a fact. James said it simply, his face the window to his amazement. Sage nodded aggressively, still grinning. “Congratulations.”

             “Thank you.” With the life rushing through her, Sage could feel it - the bravery she needed, the nerve to motivate her. It was now or never. “Hey, I’d--”

             “Sage!” Jet Harski, bruised cheek (a bludger injury - two had come at him at once, and he could only hit one. So, cheek bruise.) turning deeper and darker purple and red, called after his captain, cutting her off. Sage looked back, death grip on her broom loosening, as he waved her over and toward the changing rooms. “Party later, change now!”

             Sage turned back to James, taking a step backwards. The nerve was gone, but she still felt electric. So, she didn’t say anything, about to run away. Her foot began to step back, slowly, and her mouth opened to say goodbye. But the electricity inside of her shocked her, and before she knew it, the foot that had been stepping back moved forward, and in one quick motion, she had kissed James’ cheek and backed away again, running off after Jet.

             As she jogged to Jet, he gave her a look, eyebrows raised and wearing a smirk. She rolled her eyes and hit him with the back of her hand as she passed, entering the changing room, buzzing.


	13. Thirteen

             James Potter liked to consider himself a good person. He was nice, chivalrous, devilishly handsome, a mediator, smart, charming… and so on. Although, he would admit, he had quite the talent for getting into trouble and had done some… unsavory things in the past. He was a bully. He realized that, and he was trying to change. And he had - he was not totally the man he wanted to be, but he was fucking close. He’d grown a _lot_ since he was fifteen and thought humiliating people was funny (though, he only really enjoyed humiliating Snape).

             He also had to admit that at certain times, he could turn into a less mature individual. If he was bothered, _really bothered_ , he would instantly go back in time and suddenly would be fourteen again. Such occasions usually were in response to certain people or groups of people or topics. One of these topics was people insulting him or his friends. And it seemed the best person to get him riled up was Severus Snape.

             So, there he was, Saturday afternoon, with a sneering Severus Snape in front of him in the hallway. He was just going back to Gryffindor Tower, but he just _had_ to run into _this creep_. Behind him was Remus, who had sighed the second he saw the Slytherin boy.

             “Going to torment someone, Potter?” Snape scoffed at him. Both boys stopped walking, standing defensively.

             “Why go anywhere when you’re right here?” James said, already angry. Severus had that effect on him - even if just the air around him touched the air around the other, James got mad.

             “Prongs, he’s not worth it,” said Remus, sneering himself as he moved to leave.

             “Lupin,” said Snape, a harsh greeting followed by, “that time of the month again?”

             Remus was monotone as he answered, “at least we know I’m not pregnant.” This was, objectively, hilarious, and would’ve made James laugh (for a while, and he’d probably quote it later). But James was not in a mood for joking - something rare - as all he could see was red.

             “James, let’s just go.” Remus wanted to get back to their room to check on Sirius, who was sick. The werewolf placed his hand on James’ shoulder in an attempt to get him to leave as he tried again, “he’s pathetic and you’re better than him. Don’t waste your time with him. He’s not worth it.”

             “Yeah, yeah.” Irritation dripping off his voice, James was about to walk off with Remus (probably to rant for a while about how awful Snape was).

             “What, are you not as brave when your boyfriend isn’t around?” Snape sneered.

             “You homophobic a--”

             “James, I hate him too, I get it, but let’s just fucking go.” Remus stopped James from turning around and pulling out his wand, pushing him in the opposite direction as Snape.

             “I fucking hate him,” James said to Remus as he walked away. “Who the fuck does he think he is? Him and his prejudiced friends, acting like they’re better than everyone else because-- ugh!”

             “Alright, man,” Remus pat James, who was having an emotion overload, on the shoulder.

             The boys headed to their dorm, where Sirius sat on his bed, wrapped in a blanket like it was a cocoon, a box of tissues in his lap. He somehow still looked nice, like when a character in a movie gets sick, with a cute red nose and messy hair.

             “James,” he said, voice raw, “I’m dying.”

             “You have a cold.”

             “And people have died from those!”

             “In the 1700s and before, yeah. It’s 1977. You aren’t going to die, Sirius,” Remus, rolling his eyes, sat on the bed next to the suffering boy. He used the back of his hand to check his forehead temperature. Still hot.

             “Hmph,” the dog huffed before coughing a couple times.

             “We had the misfortune of running into Snivellus on our way here,” running a hand through his hair, James scowled.

             “Ew. Was he alone? Did you hex ‘im?” Sirius stuck his tongue out at Remus in response to the werewolf offering him medicine.

             “Nah, unfortunately.”

             “Shame.” Sirius began to have a coughing fit, after which Remus shoved cough syrup in his face. Seeing this, the biggest drama queen in all of Hogwarts let out a long and annoyed groan before giving in and taking the medicine and grimacing, glaring at Remus.

             “I’m going to go down to the common room. Peter, come with?” James opened the door, bored. Peter got up and followed James out, closing the door behind him, leaving Remus and Sirius alone.

             “I hate you,” Sirius huffed at Remus, pouting. The tall boy was too busy putting the cough syrup back on Sirius’ bedside table to see the sick boy’s face, but he knew exactly what he was doing.

             “No, you don’t,” the werewolf turned back to the bundled-up boy.

             “Bah,” Sirius said before laying down. “I’m tired.”

             “So, sleep,” Remus stood. Sirius reached out a hand and grabbed at the boy, getting hold of his hand and pulling.

             “I’m bored. And lonely.”

             Remus sighed, “move over.” Sirius obeyed, and the werewolf sat on the bed beside him, looking at the sick boy. “You puppy.”

             Sirius responded by saying, in the most human and monotone way, “bark.” And with that, he passed out, still looking impossibly perfect.

 

             “I’m just saying, if Gryffindor wins, they’ll get the cup. If Ravenclaw wins, we will. That’s not _bad_ , and it doesn’t mean I won’t support James, but you can’t blame me if I get happy if he loses.” Sage explained to Wendy as they walked to the Great Hall to get breakfast. The last Quidditch game of the year was happening later that day, a match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. “It’s just the way the cup works.”

             “... _Sage_ ,” Wendy said as she exhaled, exasperated.

             “What? It’s not like I’m _actively rooting for them to lose_ , just… mildly hoping. Slightly. A tiny bit.”

             “Can you do me a solid and just… shut up?”

             “Boo.” Sage, pouting, took a seat and grabbed some food. There were a few cheers, a signal that the Gryffindor team had walked in. Sage watched the team walk between tables in formation before they all sat at the Gryffindor table. She would not hide it - she was looking for James. When she saw him, she almost swooned. He was talking to the boy next to him with a smile, looking especially handsome and charming. He laughed and his eyes closed and his head fell back, making Sage smile.

             When he recovered, his eyes opened and grazed the room, scanning people before they caught Sage’s. She smiled at him and put double thumbs-up in the air where he could see. He grinned and gave her one back. She pulled her hands back down and smiled at him for a second before she turned back to her friends and started talking again. He stared at her for a second after she looked away, letting out a sigh.

             “That poor boy,” Wendy teased her best friend, having seen this whole encounter (including the longing gazes from both parties).

             Sage squinted at her, “...what?”

             “He doesn’t know you want him to lose. A shame,” Wendy spoke dramatically, smiles on her and Sage’s faces.

             “Shut up.” Giggling, Sage bit into her toast.

             The girls finished their breakfast and headed to leave the Great Hall when Francis Stokes, the Ravenclaw captain, approached Sage.

             “Sage!” He said, jogging up to her.

             “Hey, Francis,” Sage smiled at the boy, who had a faint blush on his cheeks.

             “So, you going to be rooting for Ravenclaw today?” He asked. Behind Sage, the Gryffindor team had stood and walked up to leave.

             “Eh, I dunno,” she shrugged, not aware that James was behind her and listening to the conversation. “I think I might have to side with Gryffindor today. Personal reasons, you know? But I will still be cheering for you, for sure.”

             “Alright,” Francis murmured, blush spreading.

             “Good luck, though!” Sage smiled after him before she turned around to head out of the Hall. Instantly after she turned, she spotted James, walking behind her, and felt her face heat up. Had he heard her?

             “ _Personal reasons_?” he mouthed.

             Fuck.

             Sage did not get to respond as he left the Hall, heading to the pitch. Sage, cheeks burning, grabbed Wendy’s arm and dragged her down to their dorm so she could scream into her pillow before the match started.

             The Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw game of 1977 was, by far, the best James had ever been in. He was doing shit he had not even practiced - he was at the top of his game. This was his most notable game, the greatest he’d ever played before. He just… _kept scoring_. Maybe something happened, like the ball and him connecting on a spiritual level, but whatever it was, it worked.

             “Blood magic, do you think?” Wendy suggested to Sage after James’ fifth shot. Ravenclaw, as a whole team, had gotten two.

             “Nah,” Sage responded after screaming support at the players. “Maybe… he’s a part of some ancient race that has superior Quidditch skills that appear after they turn seventeen.”

             “Huh. I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps.” Wendy watched, eyes glued to James. She winced as a bludger hurled itself towards him, but he somehow avoided it. Scattered cheers came from the crowd.

             “What if he has just been this good the whole time, but toned it down because… I dunno.” The Hufflepuff girls continued to come up with theories as he scored again.

             “Switched bodies?” Ravenclaw scored.

             “He’s a robot?” James scored.

             “Liquid luck?” The girls shared a look. That actually made sense. But after looking at each other quizzically, the girls shared a thought, saying, “nah.” Ravenclaw scored again.

             “Do you two think that maybe, just _maybe_ , he practiced?” A 4th year Slytherin girl behind them leaned forward to ask them, smile on her face.

             Wendy and Sage looked back at the girl, then at each other.

             “Paige, if that’s what you get from practicing, I’d be the best player in the entire world,” Sage joked, facing the girl. The crowd went crazy, making Sage turn around quickly, “did he just score _again_? What the actual fu--”

             “ _Sage_ , there are little ones around,” Wendy warned, gesturing to the 1st and 2nd years next to Paige.

             “It’s okay!” One of the two 1st years said, “you can say it!” He looked quite eager to see Sage swear, making her narrow her eyes at him.

             “I’m good, Kyle.” Sage turned back to Wendy, “how many is that now? I didn’t hear.”

             “Ravenclaw’s at 40, Gryffindor has 80.”

             “I don’t-- I can’t-- ...how? How?” Sage, utter confusion written on her face, looked out at James.

            “Whoa!” Wendy gasped. Link Dominic, Gryffindor’s seeker, suddenly zoomed right by where Sage and Wendy were in the stands, chasing the snitch.

             Ravenclaw’s seeker, who was on the other end of the field, hurried over, but by the time he got to Link, it was too late. He had caught the snitch. Gryffindor won, 230-40.

             The crowd ran onto the field even before the players got the chance to touch down. The cheers from the crowd was drowning out all other noise.

             “Should we go find James? Or do you think he’ll be too busy, considering he just won them the cup?” Sage shouted at Wendy, trying to be heard above the noise (she ended up repeating herself multiple times).

             “We should at least try! And if we cannot find him, we will find his friends. They won’t be getting mobbed and he’s never far from them.” When Sage finally understood what her friend was saying, she nodded and led her friend around the crowd, trying to see above it unsuccessfully.

             After wandering around for a few minutes, Sage found Remus, and not far from him was Sirius (who was cheering, “whoo!!! Sports!!!”) and Peter. Sage tapped Remus on the shoulder, getting him to turn and smile at her.

             They exchanged waves, not even trying to talk to each other over the (now dying, though very slowly) noise. Sirius noticed Sage, almost instantly grinning and running to hug her. Her hand disconnected from Wendy’s when he suddenly lifted her into the air, spinning her around, making her break out into a giant smile and laugh, before placing her on the ground again.

             “Hello to you, too, Sirius!” Sage laughed, finally audible over the crowd as it started to calm down.

             “You should come over to Gryffindor tonight!” Sirius said, his face lighting up with the idea. “We’re obviously throwing a party in our common room, you’ve gotta come.”

             Sage glanced at Wendy who shrugged.

             “Yeah, sure!” She agreed, making Sirius smile and grab her hand, her grabbing Wendy’s with the other as he pulled her along with him.

             “I’m not saying we have choreography for it, but… we’ve practiced it so many times we might as well.” Later, Sage sat on a plush chair in the Gryffindor common room, talking to Sirius and Remus about how often her and Wendy danced along to The Monkees song _I’m a Believer_.

             “That’s… utterly brilliant,” Sirius said, a look of amazement on his face. Suddenly, the portrait hole opened, and in came the Gryffindor team, permanent grins on their faces. The room erupted in cheers.

             Sage let out a cheer, clapping, looking at the team. She spotted James, who was looking at Remus, then Sirius, then her. He looked her directly in the eye and seemed to go into a trance, turning towards her and speeding straight over. Sage, a look of surprise on her face as she watched him rush over to her, stood (why? She did not know. Her body just… did that).

             The group (the other Marauders and Wendy) watched as James zoomed across the room, not breaking eye contact with her until he got close enough to her where he could grab her, wrapping his arms around her, laughing as he squeezed her.

             She moved her arms so they were around him, feeling the energy radiating off him and into her. He felt electric, the type of high that makes everything seem _good_. He was at the top of his game in every way, feeling bravery worthy of Godric Gryffindor himself. It was the kind of bravery that would make you do something stupid but brilliant, like jumping off a cliff into a lake of ice-cold water or getting yourself killed to save someone else.  

             James let go of Sage, running his hands through his hair and looking at the group.

             “How - and I mean this in the nicest way possible - the _ever-loving fuck_ did you _do_ that?!” Sage asked, squinting at the boy who just let out a shaky sigh, still smiling, as he shrugged.

             “I dunno,” he admitted as Sage sat back down onto the armchair, mimicking her actions by joining Remus and Sirius on the couch. He took a deep breath, this being the first time since the morning he got to relax.

             “...anyways, who wants to join me in consuming some... _questionable_ things in celebration?” Sirius looked around at the group as music began to play on the record player. Everyone shared a look before they all raised their hands.

             An hour later, while the group sat on the floor together, _I’m a Believer_ started to play, making Sage and Wendy’s eyes snap to each other then to the record player where Sirius stood, smile on his face.

             They looked at each other and stood quickly, showing the boys their unofficial routine for the song. The group felt a shared high, all the stimuli coming together to make them feel light and pure. For a night, they felt like the children they really were. They were all just kids, trying to have a good time and put good back into the world. They felt invincible - how could anything harm them when they were so young and full of life?


	14. Fourteen

             As it turned out, James’ playing during the year had made him worthy enough to get an award. His name was carved onto a little plaque and displayed in the Trophy Room (where Sage had never really gone, as she found it quite boring). Sage found herself wandering to the room occasionally, looking at the ‘James Potter’ on the metal and smiling (and at her own name on the captains’ board that always made her happy, then at her brother’s trophy for ‘exceptional skill in dueling’ that would give her a rush of pride).

             June was a mess of excitement and work. As summer approached and arrived, students started working outside more, usually by the Black Lake. On a nice Friday afternoon, Sage sat with her feet in the water, ignoring her schoolwork that lay not a meter away from her. She had taken off her cloak and rolled up her sleeves, taking off her shoes (she hadn’t even bothered to put on stockings or her blazer – it was too hot outside).

             “Cecil.” Sage fell back, laying on the ground with her hair splayed around her, out of its usual ponytail.

             “Yes, Sage?” The Ravenclaw’s eyebrow raised at her, looking away from his book and at the girl. What you need to know about Cecil: he loved comics, reading, and was great.

             “I’m bored.”

             “...we have access to magic, we live in a castle with endless mysteries, a gigantic library, ghosts, and moving corridors, there’s a dangerous but fascinating forest nearby, and you’re _bored_?”

             “...fuck you.”

             “We could always work on school stuff,” Cecil suggested, putting his book (unrelated to school. It may or may not have been about talking dogs) down. “You know, like we’re supposed to be doing. Like Xan is for some reason.”

             “Yeah, I dunno about you two, but I don’t want to be working on this tomorrow night.” The Slytherin, work in their lap, huffed. What you need to know about Xan: they were funny in a cold way and did not bend to the laws of the universe or of gender.

             Sage rolled her eyes but took her feet out of the water and moved over to her work beside her two friends. She took her quill in her hand and stared at the paper in front of her before saying, “why must I suffer?”

             “I dunno, Sage,” Cecil said, picking up his own work and yawning. “For the good of humanity or something dumb like that.”

             “...annoying.” Sage finally began her work, collaborating with the two people beside her until they gathered their things and headed back to the castle together. Xan and Sage said their goodbyes to Cecil as he headed towards Ravenclaw Tower, in the opposite direction as their common rooms. As they walked, the two laughed and talked about their plans for the summer.

             “And there’s a garden, which he’s going to let me take control over,” the Hufflepuff told the Slytherin, who nodded. She was referring to her brother and their new home, two things she was very excited to see.

             “That’s going to be nice,” Xan smiled as they turned a corner. “Oh no.” They spotted Lucinda Talkalot at the end of the hall, heading in the opposite direction as them.

             “Charles.” Lucinda sneered, stopping to talk to the girl.

             “Lucinda,” Sage sighed.

             “What are you doing with Xan?” Lucinda looked at the other Slytherin. This was sweet, in some fucked-up way, how she cared about Xan. The Slytherins were a family - even though sometimes that family was a little too realistic (the weird cousin, the homophobic uncle, the racist grandparents…).

             “Lucy, it’s fine, we were just working.” Xan took a step forward and placed a comforting hand on Lucinda’s shoulder. The girl didn’t seem happy with this as she glared at Sage. Xan groaned and tapped on Lucinda’s shoulder to get her to look at them, proceeding to use some quite aggressive sign language.

             Lucinda signed something back as Sage watching them, confused. Their conversation continued until Xan turned to the Hufflepuff and said, “we’re going,” grabbing Sage’s hand and dragging her down the hall.

             “What just happened?” Sage asked, looking back at Lucinda who had a frown on her face, then at Xan, who was bringing her towards the Hufflepuff Basement.

             “She’s just… ugh. She’s not a _bad person_ , like some of the people here, she’s just… _ugh_.”

             “Yeah, I still don’t know what’s going on. You know sign language?” Sage decided to start at the beginning, “and why do I feel like I knew that already?”

             “A lot of Slytherins know it.” Xan took in a deep breath and looked at Sage, “so you know how in our common room we can see into the Black Lake?”

             “Yes. It’s terrifying. And beautiful. But mainly terrifying. Continue.”

             “So, we can see the merpeople swim by and stuff, and we use it to talk to them.”

             “That’s… really cool, but also terrifying.”

             “They give… _really_ bad advice,” Xan gave Sage a look showing that they knew from experience. “Their first thing to suggest is usually ‘drown them.’ You could tell them Slughorn gave you a lot of homework, and they’ll just tell you to drown him.”

             “That’s wild.” Sage smiled at Xan and said her goodbyes, heading to her common room as they went to theirs. Wendy sat on a plush chair near a wall, so Sage made her way over to the girl, greeting other people on her way there.

             Plopping down onto the chair next to her best friend and putting her stuff on the floor next to her, Sage let out a sigh and closed her eyes.

             “Long day?” Wendy looked up from her work at the girl, who had put her hair back into a ponytail on the way over.

             “Long week. Long year. I want sleep,” she said, picking up her bag and digging around in it. “But I have to finish my work.”

             “At least it’s not Quidditch season anymore, so you don’t have to go practice.” As Sage got out her Charms work, she looked at Wendy gratefully.

             “I would die,” she gave a serious look.

             “If Sirius Black wasn’t here, you would be the biggest drama queen in the school,” Wendy rolled her eyes and looked down at her work again.

             “Boo.” Sage began to work, still amazed the teachers were giving so much work when they only had a week of school left. She could only hope she would be able to relax the next day.

 

             Saturday came, and by the afternoon - after working _really_ hard - Sage was free to do whatever. So, she decided to take Wendy and wander around the castle for a while, remembering what Cecil had told her the previous day - they _did_ live in a castle full of endless mysteries, and it was a crime for her to not take advantage of that. Getting Wendy to go took some convincing, but eventually the girls set off on their adventure, using the exploration to talk and laugh.

             They got lost really quickly. One of them had noticed a secret passage behind a curtain, and the other had made them go through it. The secret passage went on for some time and was dark and dingy, but they continued through for a while before coming out a portrait hole on the other side of the castle.

             “This place is so goddamn weird,” Wendy said, putting out her wand that they had been using as a source of light. The fact that they moved from one part of the school to a totally different one in a passage that should not exist bothered her. “Magic is so weird, wizarding culture is weird, this school is weird.”

             “It’s not _that_ weird,” Sage tried to defend, heading down another hallway.

             “ _YOU ALL REFUSE TO USE ELECTRICITY_.” Groaning, Wendy continued, “that’s weird. Why can’t I use pens in class?! It’s so weird!”

             “...I see your point.” Sage looked around at the hallway they were in, not recognizing any of the portraits. “Also, quick question, where are we?”

             “A hallway.” Wendy’s words sounded more like a question than she wanted.

             “Ha, ha, fuck you.” Sage rolled her eyes as the two girls continued walking down the hallway.

             Suddenly, a crash sounded nearby, making the girls stop and turn in the direction of the sound. Sage pointed out a door only a couple steps away, making Wendy give her a look which told her, ‘ _go in there_.’ After fighting for a second about who would go first, Sage gave up and approached the door, opening it slowly.

             Wendy poked over her shoulder, looking into the room. The girls were silent for a second, taking in the room.

             “Is… is that a fucking deer?” Wendy’s whole aura was radiating shock and confusion. Her head turned a bit, looking at the rest of the room. It was obviously abandoned, desks covered in dust. There was one desk on its side next to the deer; Wendy figured this was probably what had made the noise.

             “What… the actual fuck?” The girl watched as Sage, who was staring at the deer in amazement and curiosity, entered the room.

             The deer was majestic. It was a beautiful natural red colour, its antlers coming out of its head like branches. Its eyes were open in shock, staring right back at Sage.

             “Why is there a deer in an abando-- you know what? Nevermind. This place is ridiculous.” Wendy stepped into the doorway as Sage continued to walk slowly into the room. “Hello, Mister Deer. How are you doing today?”

             Sage tried not to burst into laughter, smiling as she looked back at Wendy, saying, “shut up,” with a snicker. She was going to try to approach the deer (which was _probably_ a bad idea), who was still looking at her, surprised.

             “No.” Wendy continued, “Mist-- or, actually, should I say _Professor_? We’ll go with that. Professor Deer, how was class today? Were your students good?” Sage had stopped walking, putting her hand over her mouth and leaning on a desk to stop herself from going into hysterics. “What is it that you teach? Care of Magical Creatures?  Deervination?”

             Sage couldn’t hold it anymore, collapsing into laughter, grabbing onto a desk to keep her from _actually_ collapsing. She recovered after a few seconds, still giggling as she looked at the deer.

             She took a couple more steps forward, approaching the creature slowly. She noticed a piece of parchment right next to the deer, as if he had been writing on it. Wendy, who had started following behind Sage, saw this as well.

             “Is this fucking deer writing something?”

             “Wendy--” Sage tried to stop her friend, but to no avail.

             “Okay, Sir Deer - yes, he’s a Sir now, he was knighted the other day, don’t you know. Helped a lot in… the war. Anyway - how’s the novel going? I’ve heard it’s really hard to write when you don’t have, like, hands.” Wendy spoke with no emotion, making Sage fall into a fit of silent laughs.

             The girls took another step forward and noticed something sticking out from under the desk closest to the deer. Sage, curious, bent down so she could see what it was.

             She gasped loudly before saying, “dog!” Looking at Wendy happily, Sage walked up to the dog, who had stopped biting his arm and was now looking at the girls, tail wagging. “I think-- remember that dog I told you about seeing when I had that date with Amos?”

             “You ended up talking more about the dog than Amos, so yeah, I remember.”

             “I think this is that dog.”

             Wendy took in a breath and opened her mouth to say something before closing it again, staying silent. Silence lasted about three seconds before she gave in again. “Are you _sure_?”

             “They look _really_ similar. Big, black, scraggly… I mean, they could be different, but… I dunno.” With a shrug, Sage began to pet the dog, scratching behind its ear for a bit. The dog started to lick her hand, making her giggle. Next to them, the deer huffed and took a step forward, nudging Sage’s shoulder with its nose. She immediately turned to the majestic animal, looking into its eyes and smiling before letting it smell her hand and beginning to pet it gently.

             Wendy frowned at the dog, who had begun to look at her pathetically. “Sorry, honey, I’m allergic to you. Actually, I’ll just take a step back here... don’t look at me like that! I _cannot_ pet you - this is harder for me than it is for you, trust me!

             “So, these are the strange Hogwarts animals, this is normal, I’m not confused,” she said, watching as Sage pet the deer. Feeling her nose do its ‘allergy thing,’ she took another step back, praying she wouldn’t sneeze and her eyes wouldn’t get too puffy. “But, theoretically, where did these animals come from?”

             “Maybe they’re ghosts,” Sage suggested, eyes glued on the deer, observing the way it looked and how its face moved. “Or they aren’t real, and we are just having a peasant shared hallucination.”

             “The way that tunnel smelled, I wouldn’t doubt it messed with us, so that’s a plausible theory. But I don’t think a hallucination dog would make my allergies act up. Well, then again, it would be a magic hallucination, wouldn’t it? Huh.” Wendy offered her own idea, “maybe they’re just from the forest and made their way in here.”

             Sage looked down at her friend, “but this far into the castle? And did they _open the door_?”

             “There are dogs who can open doors,” Wendy said defensively. She looked at the dog, “you’re smart enough to open doors, right?” The dog wagged its tail, tongue hanging out of its mouth.

             Sage giggled, studying the deer again. Her eyes roamed over his antlers, examining the way they looked - the texture (something reminding her of a tree branch or bark - lines and swirls etched into the prongs softly, shallow divots and bumps), the colour (tan, whitish, but darker where the texture varied), and the way they came out of his head (really similar to tree branches). She scratched the area between his eyes.

             “I wish I brought my camera.” Lamenting, Sage turned to Wendy.

             “We should probably go try to find our way back,” the dark-skinned girl glanced at the dog longingly. “Otherwise we will end up stuck here at night, and I’m _not_ in the mood for that - I’d rather my throat not close up and eyes get swollen shut.”

             Sage sighed but agreed, following Wendy as she headed to the door.

             “Should we leave the door open?” She asked as she stepped through the doorway, looking back at the animals in the room.

             “Probably? I mean, it was closed, so I don’t know.”

             “Maybe it being closed trapped them in here.”

             “Maybe they’re supposed to be trapped in here. What if they’re evil?”

             Sage paused, looking at Wendy with narrowed eyes. “...no dog ever has been, nor ever will be evil. They cannot be evil.”

             “What about the deer?”

             “Eh, probably good. I haven’t met very many deer in my life. I don’t have the authority to make judgements on all deer. I’m just going to close it. If they got in there, they should be able to get out, right? I mean, the way it opens suggests they would have a hard time closing it from the inside, so I doubt they were trapped. And they didn’t run out when we opened the door, which animals tend to do when trapped somewhere. I’ll just close it so they aren’t wandering around the castle.”

             “I’m pretty sure we over thought that,” Wendy said after Sage closed the door. She looked around the hallway, pointing to her left, “we came from there, so let’s go this way.” The girls began to walk, attempting to find their way around.

             At certain points, they saw people walking around, but before they could ask where they were, they always seemed to vanish, leaving them even more confused. After about a half hour of wandering around and telling each other jokes (at some points, they were laughing so hard they had to lean against a wall for support), Sage gasped, recognizing some of the portraits.

            She grabbed Wendy’s hand and brought her around a corner, where she gave a sigh of relief and pointed to a portrait, “that’s the Gryffindor common room.”  

             Wendy’s eyes lit up in recognition, a relieved smile crossing her face.

             “Thank God.” She looked at Sage, “although I do have to admit, that was fun.”

             Sage grinned, “yeah?”

             “Yeah. But next time, we should have an exit plan.” Wendy waved a finger at Sage, scolding her teasingly.

             “But getting lost was half the fun,” the brown-haired girl pouted, starting to walk in the direction of Hufflepuff. The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open behind them.

             “I disagree.”

             “Sage? Wendy?” The girls turned around to see Remus, followed by Peter.

             “Hey, Remus.” Wendy waved, greeting the boys.

             “...what are you doing here?” he asked, confused.

             “Oh, uh… just walking around, whatever. We were just leaving, so, uhh…” Sage, blush on her face, grabbed Wendy’s arm and dragged her off.

             “Okay, what was _that_ about?” Wendy asked once Sage had let go of her arm and they continued to walk to the Basement.

             “He _totally_ thought I was hanging around looking for James,” she flushed, “like some creepy stalker.”

             “...so, you made it even worse with that super suspicious explanation and ran off?”

             “I never said I was the best at making snap decisions,” Sage crossed her arms before panicking. “He’s totally going to tell James, and he’s going to think that I’m creepy and a stalker or something, and he’s never going to talk to me again, and I’m going to _die_.” Sage, arms waving around wildly, looked at Wendy pleadingly.

             “Okay, overexaggerated, for one, and you--” Wendy seemed to suddenly become aware they were in the middle of a hallway where anyone could hear them. “We’re going to talk in our dorm where I can assure you of… things… about… people.”

             Sage smiled, thankful her friend wanted to keep her secrets safe, but then frowned again. The girls hurried down to the basement, into their common room, then into their room. Sage collapsed onto her bed dramatically, turning her head so she could talk to Wendy who sat next to her.

             “He’s going to think I’m weird and I’m never going to get to kiss him again.” She mumbled, making Wendy roll her eyes.

             “Okay, one, you don’t need to kiss him to be happy, and two, do you _really_ think nice, ‘innocent’ Remus would sell you out?” Wendy, utilizing air quotes, comforted Sage. “And if he did, why would he word it in a way that would cause James to reject you?”

             “...you may have a point.” Sage sat up, still pouty. “This is killing me.”

             “What? Fancying James?”

             “Yes! He’s so cute and smart and nice and… every positive adjective ever, you know?”

             Wendy rolled her eyes, smiling nicely at her friend. “What if I told you he thinks _you’re_ every positive adjective ever?”

             “I would cry. Because I am overcome with emotion. And I’m dying. I wish that dog was here.”

             That dog was, at that moment, getting back to the Gryffindor common room with James. Sage, of course, did not know this. What she did know was after talking with (aka complaining to) Wendy a bit more, she was hungry - and she _also_ knew it was almost dinner time.

             Full of a very satisfying dinner, Sage and Wendy stood outside of the Great Hall, the former leaning against the wall, talking with a few of their friends from the other houses. After a while, it was just Cecil they spoke with, who was giving Wendy a book recommendation (a Muggle book about a girl solving a murder). Sage was listening to him describe the book, a smile on her face as she saw him talk excitedly about the story. He was very eager about it, and even more so about the possibility of Wendy reading it, too - Sage guessed this was mostly because he really wanted to have someone to share his theories with (he was very good at coming up with them).

             “Sage!” someone called from inside the Great Hall, amongst the massive crowd of people. She looked in the direction of the voice, coming off the wall and trying to spot whoever it was. Through the mass of people, she couldn’t tell - nobody was looking over at her, and if they were, it wasn’t ‘hey, I want to talk to her’ looks, more like ‘okay, there’s a Hufflepuff over there’ looks.

             A hand emerged from the crowd, poking out from between a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff whose backs were to each other (each talking to their own friend groups), followed by the arm and rest of Sirius Black. A second after he popped out, his friends followed individually. Sirius rushed over, grin on his face as he looked between Wendy and Sage.

             “Hey guys, what’s up? Anything interesting happen today?” Sirius placed his arm around Sage’s shoulder. Sage tried to not look at Remus worriedly - _what if he_ had _told James and co. about their creepy standing outside of Gryffindor?_ Merlin, she hoped not. Remus didn’t _seem_ like he had done something like that, just standing with his arms crossed and a neutral look on his face. But _fuck_ , Sirius was making it seem like he had.

             “I’m going to go - my binder’s fucking killing me. See you, guys,” Cecil said before walking off, and joining a group of Ravenclaws as they walked to their dorms. Sage had a brief worry about him climbing up all those stairs in a binder which was already tiring him - he needed to _breathe_ , after all - and the physical activity getting to his dorm would mean would not help him. Shrugging herself off, she assured herself that Cecil was smart, so she did not need to worry (and that she couldn’t do anything because he had already vanished into the masses of people).

             “We had an adventure,” Sage smiled at Sirius, praying he wouldn’t say something like “oh? Was it one where you waited around for James and stuff creepily?” Beside her, Wendy sighed.

             “Ooh, do tell!” Sirius grinned. Behind him, James rubbed his temple. “What was this adventure? Did you experience anything new? Meet any… I dunno, strange characters?”

             Sage looked at him funny, almost laughing at how excited he looked, but still telling him, “we were just wandering around, and it was the strangest thing--”

             As she continued, Sirius repeated softly, “strangest thing,” grin still covering his face.

             “--we found this deer and a _dog_.” She looked into his sparkling grey eyes, beginning to let go of her worry (it was still there, though - hot and heavy, like she’d just taken a sip of hot black coffee and could feel it hang in her chest).

             “ _A dog_?!” Sirius gasped, looking back at James, who was biting his lip to stop himself from laughing.

             “Yeah, I know, right?!” Sage smiled ear-to-ear. Talking about the dog was nice. Talking about the dog would calm her down.

             “But what about the deer?” James asked, only to have Sirius wave him off. He still tried to speak, but Sirius proved louder and more attention-seeking. “Wh-- that’s weirder though, right?”

             “How amazing was this dog, on a scale from the best ever to the greatest ever?”

             This continued for some time, until James decided to change the subject (he couldn’t take any more without laughing), looking over at the house point hourglasses. He looked at the amount of yellow diamonds in contrast to the others, seeing how Hufflepuff was doing in the competition for the House Cup (Gryffindor was in first place while Hufflepuff lagged behind in dead last).

             “You guys are going to have to work harder if you want to win the Cup,” James joked. Sage took in a deep, annoyed breath. Wendy put her hand on the girl’s shoulder to calm her.

             James looked at Sirius then back at Sage before asking, “you okay?”

             “Sage has… feelings about… all of that.” Wendy said, trying to get them to shut up.

             Sirius, being himself, narrowed his eyes at the girl to ask, “...why?”

             “Even the _idea_ of a House Cup is--” Sage took in a sharp breath, stopping herself. “You know what? It’s fine.” She looked at Wendy beside her, who gave her a look of warning. “I’m fine.”

             The boys, still confused, all shared a look. James opened his mouth, but Remus spoke before he could.

             “You know what we should do? Go somewhere. Do something cool for our last weekend as 6th years.” The werewolf gave Wendy a look, making her nod.

             “That’s a good idea, Remus. Let’s go do that.” The dark-skinned girl gestured to the giant doors leading to the courtyard. “We’ll go look at stars.”

             So, the group of them went outside and looked at the stars. They did not go out the front doors, though, and instead decided to take an exit which led them straight to the grounds between the castle and the lake. They hurried through the corridors of the castle, rushing to get outside.

             It was a cool night. The later days of June had been proving hot in the day but were delivering release in the absence of the sun. A breeze flew by but did not cause anyone to shiver or to hold their bodies to stay warm, instead acting like a liberating wave. It was not something to keep arms hugged around sides, but something to throw arms out at, as if they would turn into wings that would soar on the night’s wave.

             They all lay on the grass, spread out just enough to give them all room - none of them beside another - but not enough to be apart from any other.

             It was James, though, who broke this. As Sage lay looking up at the heavens above, she watched James walk and sit next to her, laying down by her side. Her heart beat wildly, so hard and heavy she could almost feel the push and pull it created, the tide of blood it blew through her, every one of her veins coming alive.

             She took a leap, ignoring the hot worry in her chest, and moved her hand closer to his. Under her fingertips, she felt blades of grass brush up against her skin until they hit something much different - more skin. Keeping in the sigh of relief over her finding his hand and not something else, like his thigh (Merlin, that would’ve been _terribly awkward_ ), she let her fingertips move further. His hand lay facing the grass, so her hand slipped on top of his. She continued until she could slip his hand into hers, her palm against the back of his hand, when he moved - turning his hand over and intertwining their fingers smoothly.

             With their fingers weaved together, the two teenagers stared up at the stars, inspecting the heavens. Sage let her left hand - her free hand - move up to point at the sky where he could see. Her finger pointed at a constellation - her favorite, as she told him. He moved closer to see what she was talking about better, then pointed out his.

             “You’ve got to tell me the whole thing with the House Cup sometime,” James said after a few moments of silence, turning his head to look at her. The dark night was hindering his sight greatly, but his eyes were beginning to adjust.

             Sage sighed heavily before she responded with carefully-chosen words. “The gist is that it creates unnecessary conflict between the houses, which contributes to the utter hatred some kids have for other kids just because they’re in a different house. There’s a lot more details and points I could make, but I don’t want to rant on you, so…” Sage trailed off, feeling strangely calm. “The moon is so pretty. It’s bright tonight.”

             A moment passed, then James asked, “what do you want to be? Like, when you’re older?”

            His eyes didn’t leave her face, allowing him to study her face’s silhouette.

             “I never really could decide.” She paused. “I still can’t. I don’t know what I want when I’m older, so I’m just trying to do things to keep my options wide and open, you know?” Turning her head, her eyes met James’.

             “That’s smart.”

             “Yeah, I guess.” She sighed then smiled at him, elbow nudging him slightly, teasingly, “what about you? What does James Potter want to be when he grows up?”

             The first thing to pop into James’ head was ‘ _happy_.’ But this didn’t seem like the right thing to say. So instead, he told her, “ever since I was a little kid, I’ve wanted to be a professional Quidditch player.”

             Sage grinned, “that’s amazing. You’re so good at it, that’s perfect.” James smiled at her.

             “Thank you.” Neither of them said anything for a minute, then James asked, “do you ever see yourself settling down? Like, getting married, having kids, white picket fence, that whole thing?”

             She looked up. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve never really wanted to get married. When my parents were both alive and before my dad left, they were really unhappy, and I guess that’s stuck with me, so now I think about me being married and I imagine myself being unhappy like my mum, and I… don’t want that. I don’t know. I’m young - I could grow out of that way of thinking. If I do, I’ll probably want to, but for now… dunno.”

             James thought about what she said for a minute. He grew up lucky - as well as still being around, his parents loved each other deeply. He grew up watching them make each other happy, and he knew he wanted the same thing: to be happy and loved.

             “And you? Does James Potter, professional Quidditch player, want a spouse and kids?” She squeezed his hand, an attempt to get rid of the tenseness she’d brought. Immediately after saying what she did, she regretted it. _Fantastic job freaking him out, Sage_.

             James inhaled as he stared at the stars shining down on them.

            “Yeah.” He paused, “I mean, I’m kinda the opposite of you. I’ve always wanted to be married. To be with someone until the very end, wholly and eternally, you know?”

             “That does sound nice,” Sage admitted, thinking about what he said. “Is that what it’s like?” She turned her head to face him again, “with your parents?”

             He looked at her and their eyes met. He stared at her green eyes, trying to see the golden specks in them even though it was so dark, and he could barely make out that they were green (he had a feeling the only reason he could ‘ _see_ ’ the green was because he already knew it was there).

             “Yeah,” James sighed, hoping he was not bragging or making her uncomfortable - he enjoyed showing off, but this wasn’t something to shove in someone else’s face. “That’s exactly what it’s like.”

             “Then I guess I might have to change my answer. I want a marriage like your parents’, not one like mine.” Sage blinked slowly, thinking. “But I guess you don’t know what it’s going to turn out like until you get married, do you?”

             “I’d like to think you can tell.” James ran his spare hand through his hair. “Li--”

             “What on Earth are you all doing out here?!”

             Every single one of the teenagers jolted up to face Minerva McGonagall, who was looking quite exhausted. Sage looked at Wendy from where she was standing a bit far away. _Shit_.

             “Would you believe me if I told you we were doing extra-credit Astronomy work?” Sirius asked, brushing off his pants, ridding them of grass.

             Professor McGonagall gave Sirius a look that shut him up before telling them all, “come with me.”

            The group followed her, looking at each other as she led them into the castle. James glanced at Sage, who was chewing on the nail on her thumb. He reached up and took her hand again, holding it in his as a sign of comfort.

             As soon as they were inside, the professor stopped and turned around to look at them. As her eyes shifted down to where Sage and James’ hands were connected, the two disentangled them at once, pulling their own hands close to their bodies as if they hadn’t been together only a second before.

             McGonagall let out a tired breath, gave James and the lads a look of pure exhaustion, and launched into a speech about the rules and respect before she sent them off (after deducting house points from them all).

             They were sent on their separate ways (they were forced to part as McGonagall stared them down, making sure the girls went down a stairwell to the Basement and the boys walked up stairs to the seventh floor), but James and Sage looked back at each other long enough to share sheepish smiles and subtle waves.

             But soon enough they were out of each other’s sight, so Sage switched her attention to Wendy. The two girls leaned into each other as they walked, sporting matching smiles as they spoke about their night. It didn’t take long for their serious whispers to turn into hushed giggles. They quieted as Sage pulled out her wand and opened the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, but started right up again once they settled down for the night, sitting on Sage’s bed and trying to keep quiet so their roommates would not hear. They fell asleep after changing topics multiple times, passing out atop Sage’s covers when they were discussing Disco (and how much of a mood-booster it was).

 


	15. Fifteen

             Schoolwork calmed down as the last week of term went by, but the school itself became full of excitement over the (now a day away!) summer break. Corridors were full of energetic chatter over what might happen over break (“you swear you’ll write, right?!” “Oh, going to Egypt will be so much fun!”). On their last full day, Sage spent her time before the feast going around and spending time with her friends, just enjoying their company and the wonders the castle.

             Sat on the grass next to the Black Lake, Sage, Wendy, Cecil, Xan, and a couple other people joked and laughed about things that had happened that year. Xan finished telling a story about when they and Gemma, one of the Hufflepuffs who was sitting beside Sage, had narrowly escaped death via Whomping Willow (even though they were forbidden from going near).

             “That was the fastest I’ve ever run before, I’ll tell you that,” Xan said, making the group laugh. Gemma giggled before covering her mouth and letting out a muffled sob. Everyone fawned over her, asking what was wrong and uttering comforting words, careful not to overwhelm her.

             “It’s…” Gemma began, holding back tears, “Hogwarts is, a-and forever w-will b-be my h-home.” She started to cry, sniffling, “I c-can’t b-believe I’m leaving. I d-don’t want to go. When else will I get to live in a c-castle with so many amazing p-people?”

             “Oh, Gem!” The group said at the same time, leaning forward to be a part of a group hug.

             “You’re off to bigger and better adventures now!” Wendy cooed from her spot across from Sage.

             “Yeah, you’re going to be so good at magizoology, you’ll probably be able to buy your own castle, and we’ll all come live there.” Xan rubbed Gemma’s arm, hoping it was comforting (they were not the best at dealing with emotional people).

             “Yeah, and by the time you get your first job, you’ll probably have come up with a different idea of what you want.” Cecil looked at the eighteen-year-old with a warmth in his eyes.

             “The only bad thing about coming to Hogwarts is eventually, you’ll have to leave.” Jake, a Slytherin 7th year, looked at his shoes as he added his morose comment.

             “Wow, Jake.” Xan hit his arm. “How arse-like of you to say.”  

             “...arse-like?”

             “...yeah. You’re _like_ an arse.”

             Jake looked at them before he turned to Gemma and apologized. She waved him off, wiping her eyes and looking at them all with a smile.

             “I’m so grateful to have met and befriended all of you,” she sighed, making them all smile at her. “You all have to promise to write, okay?”

            The group nodded and talked some more before they split up, going to see other people. Sage and Wendy, however, had no idea as to what they wanted to do. As such, they ended up walking around the castle courtyard, aimless.

            “We could go see Hagrid,” suggested Sage, tired of pacing in the hot sun. Wendy made a noise before responding.

            “He’s probably busy. End-of-year stuff, you know?”

            Sage didn’t know but nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, I guess.”

            “Huh.” A few seconds passed before Wendy spoke again, seemingly nervous. “Well, I wanted to see Diana at some point, but I’m sure you don’t want to...”

            After Wendy cut herself off, Sage shook her head, “no, of course we can go find her! Did you want to be alone?”

            “No, no, you can come-- I just have no idea where she is.” Wendy shrugged as Sage hummed.

            “Do you think she’ll be in Gryffindor Tower?” Sage asked, looking away from the clouds and blue sky to the girl beside her.

             Wendy shrugged again. She thought for a second before noticing two girls walk by she knew were in Gryffindor.

             “Oh, hey, Lily, Marlene!” Wendy called after the girls before jogging over, Sage following right behind her.

             “Hey,” Lily Evans smiled, waving at the girls with the hand not holding Marlene’s. “Is something up?”

             Sage, blush on her face, stood behind Wendy as she asked Lily if she knew where Diana was. The brown-haired girl suddenly found the ground quite interesting and stared at it to avoid looking at Lily, who she may or may not have had a crush on since second year.

             “Well, we were just in our common room, and I didn’t see her there, so I don’t know.” Lily, smiling at the dark-skinned girl apologetically, added, “sorry. You don’t know where she is, do you, Marlene?”

             “No, sorry,” the other Gryffindor girl said. “She might be in the owlery, though. But I guess it’s a bit of a far way to go and not know if she’s really there or not, so…”

             Wendy turned so she could talk to Sage, asking, “you up to walking to go see some owls?”

             Sage looked up and smiled, nodding. “That sounds fine.” She glanced over at Lily, who had a kind smile on her face. Their eyes met, causing Sage’s face to flush before her gaze fell back to the floor.

             “Alright,” Wendy turned to Marlene with a grin, “thanks.”

             “It was my pleasure,” Marlene smiled back. The Gryffindor girls walked away as Wendy and Sage headed towards the owlery, arm-in-arm.

             As it turned out, Diana _was_ in the owlery. So Wendy and Sage walked with her back toward the castle, stopping on the covered bridge where they could stand and talk while looking out at the beautiful scenery.

             Wendy and Diana leant on each other and the railing as they spoke. Sage stood a few meters away from them, allowing them space, with her attention focused on the designs in the railing’s wood. She ran her finger gently across it, noticing the way it swirled and its assorted colours.

             Her attention turned to the landscape in front of her briefly as she looked up and let a sigh escape her lips. It was strange, only having a year of school left. She’d spent so much of her time at Hogwarts, it seemed like someplace she’d always come back to. The idea that the next time she came to the school would be the last… she didn’t like it.

             “What’re you thinking about?” Suddenly, Sirius Black was standing beside her, his shoulder touching hers as he looked out at the scenery as well before glancing back at her. Pushing aside her shock at his sudden appearance (she could not really say he’d snuck up on her, as she’d been so deep in thought), Sage let out a breath.

             “I’m going to make next year the best I possibly can,” she said, looking back out at the lush, rolling hills. Beside her, Sirius leaned onto the railing, his elbows resting on the wood. “I’ll make it something I’ll remember.”

             “’s a good idea,” the boy nodded, holding his face up with his hand. “What’re you planning on doing to make it nice and special?”

             “I dunno.” She looked at him, “I guess I’ll have to figure it out, won’t I?”

             “Breaking more rules is always fun.”

             “...you’re a bad influence.”

             “Eh,” the boy shrugged, smirk gracing his face lightly, “I try.”

             Sage let out a chuckle, hitting his arm gently. He turned and pouted at her before changing the subject.

             “So, you gunna write me this summer?”

             “Do you _want_ me to write you?” Sage looked at the Gryffindor boy, eyebrows raised.

             “Of course,” he scoffed, “we have things we’ll need to talk about - music theory and all that. And I’m sure you want to hear all about the adventures I’ll have over the summer.”

             “Of course,” she giggled, tightening her ponytail.

             “And you can tell me about all the pretty French people you see.” At this, Sage groaned dramatically.

             “I’m going to die there. August told me about how pretty everyone is, so now I’m scared the second I see another teenager I’m going to need to jump their bones.” Sage joked, hand on her forehead as if she was going to faint.

             “A tragedy, honestly.” Sirius chuckled, looking at Sage. She noticed the way his eyes crinkled up as he smiled. It made her happy.

             “I know. I’m going to have to network there. Maybe I’ll get off easy because I’m foreign.” Sage, smile on her face, turned her body to face Sirius.

             “Maybe.” He glanced out at the landscape again. He looked at Sage out of the corner of his eye, “just be sure to be safe.”

             Sage chuckled, “in reality, I probably won’t even get close to it. The most I’ll get this summer is friendships and bored.”

             “That’s fair.” Sirius smirked, taking in a breath before asking, “you gunna write James?”

             Sage, cheeks rosy, questioned the boy right back. “Does he want me to write him?”

             Sirius didn’t say anything for a second, but he gave her a look.

             “Are you kidding me?” He rolled his eyes. “Last night I had to listen to him, ‘do you think she’ll write me? Should I ask her to? What if I write her? Blah, blah’… and here you are, wondering if he wants you to.”

            He looked her deeply in her green eyes, “ _yes_ , Sage, he wants you to write him.”

             “Oh.” The Hufflepuff’s face reddened as she looked down at the wooden railing again, tracing the swirls in the wood with her finger. “Then I guess I will.”

             “Good.” Sirius’ fingers played with one of his rings, a silver band around his finger.

             “Sage!” Wendy, Diana beside her, got the Hufflepuff’s attention. “We were gunna head back to the castle before the feast.”

             “Groovy.” Sage stepped away from the railing, looking at Sirius. “Catch you later.” She waved as she jogged away from him to catch up with the girls.

             Sirius sighed as he watched her go. He waited a moment before he started walking back to where the boys were - their room. It was the full moon that next night, so Remus wasn’t quite feeling himself. They had been hanging outside for a while but went in so he could rest. After a while of doing nothing but playing chess, Sirius had gotten bored and wanted some air. He hadn’t meant to go so far away from the castle, but as he was standing around in the halls, he ran into his brother.

             Regulus was a good person, truly. For a while, Sirius was mad at him because he thought he was like their parents. But after a while, he saw Regulus as someone who disagreed but was too scared to say anything (Regulus often imagined himself leaving his parents, but he never did. He was not like Sirius. He did not have the bravery of a Gryffindor).

             So, after talking to his younger brother to check in before summer (they spoke in private), Sirius had asked Regulus if he wanted to stay with him. He said no. Sirius nodded and walked away, letting his feet and mind go where they wanted. As it turned out, they wanted to go nowhere.

             “Hippogriff.” The portrait moved, revealing the passageway to Gryffindor’s common room. Sirius entered, smiling and greeting those who hung around briefly before ascending the mahogany staircase and joining his friends in their room.

             James and Peter were on the floor next to Remus’ bed, the chess set between them as they fought. Remus watched from atop his mattress, whispering help to both of them and occasionally munching on some chocolate. He was the first to look up and see Sirius. When he did so, he smiled warmly, although his face was obviously pained and pale. The full moon rising was not a strong one, but he still felt its effects.

             “Sage’s gunna write you.” Sirius looked away from Remus, closed the door, and spoke. At Sirius’ words, James’ head snapped over, eyes wide and excited.

             “What?! Did you talk to her?” The chess board ignored, James moved his whole body so he was facing Sirius who walked over and sat down on Remus’ bed.

             “Yeah.”

             “And?” James looked at the dog pleadingly, “did you talk about me? What did she say?”

             “Prongs, I’m gunna need you to chill. We didn’t really get a chance to talk about you much. I asked her if she was going to write you, she wasn’t sure if you wanted her to, and I told her you did, so she said she will.” Sirius, the complete opposite of James, was leaning back and picking dirt out from under his nails.

             James, however, had his hands on Sirius’ knees, looking at the boy with a focused, unblinking gaze. He asked his friend about 50 more questions, listening to the answers (many of these were, “ugh,” and, “James, I swear--”), fixated. Once James was done, Peter noticed it was time for the feast.

             The three animagi turned to the werewolf, who did not look ready to make the decision they wanted him to - should he go or not? He wasn’t feeling _awful_ , but he would probably want to leave early, and him walking out would be a big thing, people getting suspicious when they noticed him stand…

             “Padfoot, do we still have that pigmentum block?”

             “Moony, I have about 30 of those. I’ve _got_ you.”

 

             To nobody’s surprise, Gryffindor won the House Cup. Sage, lips pursed, watched as the Great Hall became decorated in the house’s colours (she did have to admit it was quite pretty). The feast itself was enjoyable, as always. Filled with chatter and laughter, the Great Hall had a mood of happiness. That was, until red and yellow paint (which symbolized Gryffindor’s scarlet and gold colours) exploded on the whole school as people were enjoying a nice after-dinner chat.

             The school left a bit early so people could clean up, which Sage didn’t mind. She went to her bathroom with the other girls in her year and scrubbed the paint from her skin and out of her hair, talking to the girls as she bathed. The Hufflepuff bathroom was created in a way that meant talking to people was easy (it resembled a Japanese bathhouse, wooden floors and short stools sitting next to shower heads coming out of the walls), but it also had a more private area (walled off). Although she could use the prefect’s bathroom as a Quidditch captain, she did prefer using the one where she could hang out with her friends (but on those occasions, she was feeling stressed or antisocial, the giant bath was a blessing).

             The girls came out of the bathroom to their beds, where they all plopped down and fell asleep instantly, the food in their stomachs and the warm water having already put them half to sleep.

             The next day, the whole school got up early, headed down to the Hogwarts Express, and left. Sage and Wendy sat with a group of their friends, taking up a whole compartment. This was helpful, as the train ride was so long and it meant for entertainment, a release from boredom. But after a bit, Sage was feeling cramped, so when the trolley lady walked by, she stood to stretch her legs and get some candy. Wendy, who was feeling a bit peckish, followed.

             “What do you think I’ll have the hardest time finding in France?” Sage asked Wendy as the two girls stared at the selection, hoping this would help her decide what to get.

             “I dunno. I mean, they’ll have chocolate… maybe get some beans?” Wendy, hand on her chin, thought deeply about this purchase. Sage mirrored her, nodding, and buying a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, turning around only to run into someone.

             “Sorry, sorry,” she said bashfully. “Oh, Jet! Hey. How was graduation?”

             “Eventful. I can’t believe it’s all over.” Jet ran a hand through his hair, “I’ll miss being on the team. You were a great captain, Sage.”

             Sage blushed again, rubbing the back of her neck. Beside her, Wendy started to agree with the boy, mentioning how much she planned out the games.

             “It’s ridiculous, honestly - the fact that she didn’t, like, _die_ from stress doing all that extra work. I dunno how she does it.”

             “Oh, you guys…” Face flaming, the Hufflepuff waved them off. “Well, Jet, you were an amazing beater. Saved me from death many, many times.”

             “Ah, thanks, Sage. Hufflepuff is lucky to have you as captain one more year.”

             “Oh, Jet, thank you.” Sage enveloped the taller (by quite a bit) boy in a hug he quickly returned, placing his chin on top of her head. She pulled away, smiling at him. “Good luck out there, Harski.”

             “You too, Sage.” Jet smiled at the girls, saying goodbye to both before walking off.

             “You know how this morning I said I wouldn’t cry again?” Sage asked Wendy, staring off after Jet.

             “While you were crying? Yeah, I remember.” Wendy, knowing what was coming, took Sage in her arms, resting her head on her shoulder. Sage let a few tears fall, Wendy losing some drops as well.

             “I’m gunna miss you so much,” Wendy’s voice was muffled as she shoved her face into Sage’s shoulder.

             “Why can’t America be France?” Sage mumbled, her Scottish accent thicker than usual.

             “I don’t know.” Wendy pulled away a bit, their arms still around each other, so they could look at each other. “We just have to hold out a little bit, just until I get to come visit you. And we’ll write each other.”

             Sage nodded as Wendy brushed some of her hair out of her face. “And I can Apparate now, so if need be I can just show up there.”

             “Don’t do that - you don’t know where you’d be going; you’d get splinched.” Wendy giggled, “but you can use magic, so…” Sage let out a laugh, eyes sparkling. “I’ve still got to wait a month, but believe me, the minute I turn seventeen, I’m whipping my wand out and messing around for no reason.”

             “I believe you. And I will be there.” Sage stared deeply into her best friend’s eyes, “I love you.”

             “I love you, too.” Wendy smiled, dropping her arms so they could head back to their compartment. “Do you want to go back?”

             Sage thought for a second before shaking her head, “I want to walk around a bit more, but you can go back.”

             “You sure?”

             “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Wendy squeezed her best friend’s hand before heading back to the compartment.

             Turning to keep walking, Sage wiped her eyes one last time, heading down the hall. She glanced into the compartments, smiling when she saw all the happy people. As she continued, a door opened a few compartments in front of her and a (tall) boy walked out before closing the door behind him. Sage recognized him, smile gracing her face.

             “James!” Upon hearing his name, the black-haired boy turned. He spotted her and smiled as she jogged over. “Hey!”

             “Hey, Sage!” James looked at the girl, “how--”

             “Is Remus okay?” Sage noticed the scrappy sandy-haired boy in James’ compartment, who was asleep and quite pale.

             “Yeah, yeah. He just ate something that disagreed with him last night.” James placed his hand on Sage’s shoulder, guiding her away from the compartment and near one of the doors onto the train where they could stand and talk. They stood close together, off the corridor slightly, where people could pass by. Where they stood was a lot like a closet, but with no doors and no clothes.

             “Okay,” the Hufflepuff said wearily, turning her attention to James and looking at his eyes, ignoring his lips (but not really - her eyes kept falling to them, as they were very close and very pretty). “You looking forward to break?”

             The boy grinned, glancing out the window on the train door. “Yeah.” He continued talking, but as hard as she tried, Sage just couldn’t get herself to focus on his words. She was paying far too much attention to his face - his eyes, glasses, those lips, that jaw… that _jaw_.

             She snapped out of her trance after he asked her something, blushing as she asked him to repeat himself.

             “I asked if you’re looking forward to break, yourself.” James repeated, unbothered by her asking him to do so.

             “Yeah, sorry, I am.” She smiled at him, trying to calm herself. It wasn’t working. She just kept looking at his jaw and feeling the urge to have her mouth on it, looking at his mouth and wondering what it would look like as it mo-- she needed to stop.

             “That’s nice,” James smiled. He could not stop glancing down at her lips, remembering how soft they were and… _he_ needed to stop. If he kept thinking about stuff like that, things would get very awkward very quickly. “How i--”

             “Can I kiss you?” Sage gulped, face red. James stood there for a second, heart beating wildly as he looked into her green eyes.

             “Er, yeah,” was all he managed to say, his body frozen. She took a step forward, hands moving slowly up to his face. The second her hand touched his jaw; a shiver went through his body. She ran her thumb along his jawline, (that _jawline_ ) making his mouth fall open a bit.

             She caressed his face with her hand, guiding it down gently to where she could reach it. He stared at her face, centimeters away from contact. Sage was forcing herself to take it slow, wanting to savor the moment (to remember as she lay in bed at night). Her whole body felt heavy, but it was like there was a balloon in her chest slowly being inflated.

             As the Hufflepuff moved closer, their eyes closed. She brushed her lips against his, savoring the way they tingled. Sage let out a small breath, her breathing shallow, and connected their lips, moving them slowly.

             James seemed to snap out of the trance she had put him under, and his hands reached out to touch her sides. He pulled her closer to him, moving their lips a bit faster. They stood there for a bit, mouths connected and moving slowly against each other, until Sage fell back, resting her forehead on his and breathing slow and shallow.

             Her nose brushed against his as he tried to calm himself, wanting to slam their mouths and bodies together. He stood still, fingers moving against her hips gently.

             “I’m going to miss that,” Sage whispered, her voice low and breathy, “I’ll miss this.” James gulped.

             “I mean, France isn’t _that_ far away.” He was close to begging, desperation dripping off his voice. Sage let out a chuckle (which sounded like music to his ears), pulling away from him more and taking her hand off his jaw.

             They both opened their eyes, James looking at her pleadingly. She ignored this, using her hand to brush some of his hair away from his forehead. He still had his hands on her hips, keeping her close to him.

             “I’m going to miss you, James,” she whispered, staring into his hazel eyes with her striking green ones. James almost moaned, instead gulping and bringing their mouths together again.

             He focused all his mind on the parts of him that were touching her, most of it going to his lips and the way hers felt against his. It was like every kiss in his life had been leading up to this, and this was the test of his skills. He was definitely trying to impress her, but he was having a tough time thinking only about what he was doing with her doing what she was.

             Sage’s mind was fuzzy. Her lips were tingling. His thumb brushed up and down on her hip, making shivers go through the rest of her body. She was _so_ glad this had not ended yet (and if it could keep going on forever, she would be _really_ appreciative). As James increased speed slightly, she brought her hand up to the back of his neck, inching her fingers up and tangling them in his hair.

             At some point, he adjusted his hand on her waist, gently brushing his thumb against a part of her bare skin where her shirt had ridden up. The second she felt this, she did multiple things instinctually. She arched her back, let out a gasp that sounded dangerously close to a moan, and her hand that was entangled in his hair pulled back just enough for James to feel it but not enough to hurt him. James reacted to all these things, letting out a breathy but quiet moan in surprise.

             The two teens pulled their faces away, looking at each other, eyes wide.

             “Uh…” James said, his face feeling fiery.

             Sage looked at him, heart beating wildly. She couldn’t help the subtle smile coming onto her face as she took her hand back. James noticed this, his eyes narrowing at her as she closed her mouth tightly, obviously holding back laughter. He took his hands off her waist and glared at her, face still hot, and started to smile as she covered her mouth and let out quiet giggles.

             He grabbed her wrist gently, pulling it away from her face and leaning in again, glaring at her closely.

             “You’re mean.” James smiled, watching her eyes crinkle up as she started to laugh harder, his own eyes softening.

             “I’m not laughing at _you_ ,” Sage said after calming herself down.

             “Oh?” He glared at her playfully, letting go of her wrist.

             “Yeah, it’s just funny--” she cut herself off with another laugh, “in general.”

             James couldn’t help but start to laugh as well. Soon enough, the two of them were letting out quiet giggles. Sage recovered and took in a breath before stepping away from him.

             “I need to go tell Wendy I’m not dead.” Sage began to turn away from him, stopping to look at him and add, “I’ll be thinking of you.”

             James gulped, calling after her, “don’t forget to write!” She turned back briefly and smiled at him before continuing down the hall.

             She made her way to her compartment where Wendy and a few others sat, talking. She opened the door, walked in, closed it, and sat down.

             As she walked in, Wendy asked, “where were you? I was just about to go looking for you.”

             Sage plopped down next to her best friend, face flushed as she said, “I ran into James. We--” she looked at the others in the compartment before finishing, “--talked for a bit. About our summers, you know.”

             “Did you two do anything else?” Cecil asked, eyebrow raised.

             “...if we did, it’s our business.” Sage stuck her nose in the air, facing away from the boy who had an overconfident smirk on his face.

             “...yeah, okay, that wasn’t, like, the _number one_ thing you could’ve said to make sure we knew you did more, but it was pretty far up there.” Xan, looking at Cecil and then at Sage, who glared at the Slytherin, added.

             The group teased a very red Sage for a while, eventually giving up after she buried her face in Wendy’s shoulder (she had been covering her face with her hands before that). She was thankful as they switched topics over to music - Sage then participated heavily in the conversation. They talked about politics for a while, then books. Sage, although she wanted to keep talking, began to fall asleep as she watched the scenery go by, the lull of her friend’s voices sending her to dream land.

             Sage awoke to a gentle hand shaking her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open, recognizing Wendy’s beautiful face smiling at her.

             “We’re almost there,” said Wendy as Sage rubbed her eyes.

             Sage did not say anything – she just looked out the window, where she confirmed for herself that this was the truth. She sat up, looking at her friends with tears in her eyes. As they were saying their final goodbyes, the train pulled into the station, stopping.

             Wendy and Sage looked at each other, grabbed each other’s hands and both mentally decided to wait a bit to finally say goodbye. The two Hufflepuffs walked out of their compartment, making their way onto the platform.

             Wendy saw her parents first and pulled Sage along with her to greet them. As they reached the two of them – a pair of adults who were still quite young, as they had Wendy at an early age, Muggles, and nice people – Wendy dropped Sage’s hand and hugged both of them.

             “Sage! It’s been so long!” Wendy’s mother smiled at her daughter’s best friend, hugging her as well. “So sorry we couldn’t have you over Christmas.”

             “It’s okay, Mrs. Greene! I’m happy to see you doing well!” Sage, trying not to make it obvious, looked over the woman’s shoulder to see if her brother might be lurking somewhere among the horde of people.

             “Oh, Sage, you’ve always been so polite! I wish we could talk, but unfortunately, we’re expected at my sister’s, and traffic is so bad around now…” As Wendy’s mother rambled, Sage turned to her best friend, tears in the eyes of both girls.

             They did not say anything, fearing words would be too much and send them over the edge, leaving them _those girls_ sobbing on the platform. They looked into each other’s eyes, embracing tightly (for about two minutes), eventually pulling away.

             Wendy’s parents, sad smiles on their faces, took their daughter away, leaving Sage to wipe her eyes and look for her brother. But the next person she ran into was not August – it was Sirius, followed by James and two people she could only figure were James’ parents. They certainly looked like him – his father shared his messy hair and his nose, his mother his darker skin tone and hair colour. The opposite of Wendy’s parents, they were an older couple, both smiling lovingly.

             “I wanted to say goodbye. I know James already got to,” Sirius smirked, making Sage flush, “but…” Sirius opened his arms. Sage rolled her eyes but embraced him, squeezing him tightly.

             She let him go and turned to James, giving him a hug as well before he could say anything. He wrapped his arms around her gently, smiling when she pulled away.

             “You two,” she pointed her finger at the two of them. They looked at each other and then at her in mock offence. She continued, “better not get into too much trouble. Or die. Or cause severe bodily harm to yourselves or any other person.”

             The boys rolled their eyes but agreed. The man she assumed was James’ father stepped forward with his wife.

             “Are you in the boys’ year?” He asked, his voice calm and clear.

             Sage nodded, “I’m a Hufflepuff.”

             “She’s their Quidditch captain, dad.” James turned to his father who made a face as if he was impressed.

             “Ah. Well, I’m Fleamont Potter, you already know my sons,” the man gestured to the two boys. Sage nodded, smiling.

             “Yes, I su—" A tap on her shoulder stopped Sage as she turned, immediate relief washing over her as she almost burst into tears.

             “August!” She couldn’t help her excitement and threw herself at the man, burying her head into his shoulder.

             “Oh, Sage!” August groaned. Sage listened to his familiar voice, loving the thick (much thicker than hers) Scottish accent. “Ow, squeezing too hard.” Sage immediately let go and looked at her brother.

             August Charles was ruggedly handsome and shared many features with his sister, save a few notable differences. August’s freckles were much more prominent than his sister’s and completely covered his larger nose. His eyes, instead of having bits of gold in them, were bluer while still close in colour to Sage’s green. His facial features were sharper than Sage’s and he looked at the world differently, like he was on alert.

             “I’ve missed you so much!” She wiped her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day, looking at her brother happily.

             “I’ve missed you too,” a warm smile on his face, August pat his sister on the head. He looked behind her, at the boys and adults Sage had (honestly completely forgotten about) been talking to. “Who’s this?”

             Sage turned back to James and his family, quickly telling her brother, “they’re Gryffindor boys in my year. This is James, and that’s Sirius.”

             “It’s nice to meet you two.” August waved, friendly, before he whispered to Sage, in French (he didn’t want to be rude and was totally unaware that this made it seem like he was talking shit about them), “ _are those the parents_?”

             “ _Yeah_ ,” Sage whispered back, also speaking French, “ _James’ biological parents – the one with glasses_.”

             August nodded, turning to the two adults and introducing himself (in English), shaking their hands before turning back to Sage. “You ready to go?”

             “I’ve got to get my trunk,” she said. August nodded. Sage turned back to the Potters, telling the boys one last time, “be good,” and telling the adults a polite, “it was nice to meet you!” before heading with August to get her trunk.

             “You ready?” August asked when he and Sage got to an empty spot they could Apparate from.

             Sage’s hand gripped her trunk’s handle, squeezing as she prepared herself. “It still makes me dizzy sometimes.”

             “Honestly? Me too,” August laughed, grabbed his sister’s hand, and counted down before getting them out of there with a ‘POP.’

             Sage, eyes shut tight, could feel the sunlight on her skin. Her stomach calmed, allowing her to open her eyes and see where she was.

             It was perfect. August had found a tiny cottage big enough for the both of them, the stone walls surrounded by plants that seemed to have taken over the yard, complete with ivy growing up the stone walls. There was a brown, wooden fence surrounding the property, though it was small. The cottage itself looked as if it was built in the 1500s. It was like a place in a Disney movie that a witch would live.

             There were a couple windows Sage could see from the front, including one protruding from the wall, cushions visible. Sage could already see herself sitting there and reading.

             Sage’s head turned to the right and the left to see they were on a street with other houses and what she imagined were shops. To her left was more houses, the street eventually turning into one made of dirt, lined by trees. To the right was a marketplace and stores with signs on them she recognized as being in French.

             Tears in her eyes (again), Sage turned to August, enveloping him in another hug.

             “It’s perfect. I love it,” she said, letting him go. He opened the wooden gate that only went up to Sage’s hips, gesturing for her to go first. She lugged her trunk in, looking forward to the summer even more.


	16. Sixteen

 

My Dearest Wendy,

I love it here!!! August somehow managed to find the absolute perfect place for us to live, I swear. I’ve enclosed a picture of the house (cottage??? I think, but I don’t know). Isn’t it just  perfect ? The garden is lovely and I’ve been spending a lot of time cleaning it up and planting new things. I almost never want to leave, but I know the second I see Hogwarts I’ll totally forget about this place - not much beats living in a magic castle. 

Speaking in French all the time has been making my brain hurt (having to translate everything in your head is exhausting) but luckily i’ve been getting better at it. Some things I don’t have to translate and I can just say instinctively. 

Everyone here is so nice! A lot of the people who live here are old, but there are a few teenagers who I’ve been enjoying the company of. (also, everyone is so pretty. Too pretty. I don’t understand it.) There are so many magical people here, which is good. One of the teenagers is a muggle, though. But we just talk about magic when she’s not around. 

The shops around here are nice, too. I really love the cafe August works in. They have this really really nice coffee flavoured icey butterscotch thing that I’d honestly give my life for (you’ve got to try it sometime). Also there’s a shop where they make chocolate daily so when you walk around outside around that shop it smells like chocolate. 

OH! I almost forgot that I didn’t get to tell you what happened with James on the train! But I think you’ve figured it out (and I don’t want to write it in case August looks at this  or something). I can tell you in full detail when we get together next, if you want. 

Write soon! Loving and missing you, 

Sage  :)

 

Dear James,

It’s summer!!! I’m so happy!!! I have free time! I’ve been doing so many things that I’d been wanting to do but couldn’t. I’ve been reading a ton, and I’ve got to work with the plants surrounding the house.  

This town is my favourite ever. I think when I get older, I want to live somewhere exactly like this but where I don’t have to speak French all the time. If I could take this town (especially the house I’m living in - it’s absolutely perfect) and just put it in England, I’d do it and never leave. 

The people here are lovely, too. They’re quite different from English people. I’ve met and befriended all the teenagers here, most of which are magical. I’m learning all kinds of stuff about Beauxbatons and I have to say, although it sounds lovely, I much prefer Hogwarts (even if sometimes I hate how much work we get). 

So how are things with you? Is Sirius still there? Are you keeping busy and out of trouble? 

Hoping you’re well, 

Sage 

 

My darling  Sage, 

I love your new house!!! It’s so... Hufflepuffy, you know? Oh, and the pressed flower you sent? So beautiful! And that town? It sounds amazing! I wish I was there with you, but then I remember I don’t speak French (except for what you’ve taught me) and I’d have... a hard time. 

We’re getting ready to go to America! It’s so exciting, I can’t wait. It doesn’t help that there’s not much to do here right now, either. As I lay in the grass in the park across from my house and write you this, I look out at the geese, who are fighting over a bit of bread (I think it’s bread, I’m not getting closer to them) and realise this is the most entertaining thing that I’ve seen all day. Sad. 

I want to meet some French wizards. Or just some around here. I can’t really go up to everyone I meet and ask them if they’re a muggle, you know? I do hang out with some of the teenagers around here sometimes, but they’re quite boring. 

Hopelessly bored (and loving and missing you), 

Wendy 

 

Dear Sage,

I’m so glad to hear from you & to hear good things. I’ve been spending most of my time with Sirius, who is still living here until he finds his own place. We have been staying out of trouble (mostly). I hope you’re not doing too much - this is a break, after all. 

London’s gone mad with punk stuff, which Sirius loves. He’s been trying to get me more into punk. It’s nice and all, but when he tried to pierce my lip with a safety pin... I’d rather just stay in and listen to music. 

It’s quite hot here, too. What is it like there? It’s not as bad as it was last year (thank Merlin), but Sirius and I are still spending loads of time finding ways to cool down, which is much easier now that we can use magic outside of school. 

Thinking of you, 

James

 

Dear Remus,

I hope you’re feeling better! I feel bad that I didn’t get to say goodbye to you, but I get that you were tired. Hopefully, your summer is going well despite that rocky start. 

I think you’d love this town I’m staying in. It’s nice and cute without being too small, you know? There’s a couple stores I can really see you enjoying. One of these is a candy shop where they make chocolate all the time, so the area in and around the building smells like chocolate. It’s so, so amazing. 

So what are you doing? How’s your summer been? 

Sincerely, 

Sage :)

 

My dearest Wendy, 

I write you this letter hoping to keep you from dying of boredom while you wait to go to America. So I’ve basically finished up my garden, all that I’m doing now is just upkeep. I’ve been hanging out with the French teenagers more and I’m happy to say I’ve befriended them totally now. I wish I could tell you all that they’re teaching me about Beauxbatons, but it’s... a lot of information. When we see each other next, I’ll tell you all about it if you promise to tell me all you can learn about Ilvermony. 

Figuring out who here is magical and who isn’t has been fairly easy, as most of the time when someone answers “what school do you go to” it pretty much ensures you know. Adults are easy to figure out based on the way they act and dress (also, some of them have their wands on them quite obviously. One woman I met had put her hair in a bun and stuck her wand through it - I was amazed that her hair wasn’t totally messed up). 

Loving and missing you (and hoping you find something more entertaining to do than watch geese all day), 

Sage 

 

Dear Sage, 

Thank you so much for your letter! I’m feeling much better now, being home has let me totally recover. I wish we could’ve said our goodbyes, but I guess it’s fine because we will be seeing each other again before we know it. My summer has been lovely, so far. 

I think I might just have to visit, as that shop sounds too good to miss. But really, all that I’ve been doing is reading and relaxing. 

Sincerely, 

Remus Lupin 

 

My darling  Sage, 

I’M IN AMERICA!!! Your letter saved me for those couple days before I left, so thank you. But here I am, in New York City! It’s not the nicest city, but I am learning a lot. Americans are strange. Disco is really popular here, so I’ve been surrounded by that and really enjoying it. 

I’ve been trying to take loads of pictures, and I’ve enclosed a few of them. I gave summaries on all of the on their backs.. 

I would love to tell you all about Ilvermorny! I’ve got to figure out a source to tell me all kinds of things. Asking what school someone goes to is nice in theory, but most of the time the answer is a local muggle school.

Loving and missing you (and enjoying her vacation),

Wendy 

 

Dear James,

Although I am apart from London physically, my spiritual heart and punk soul lie in their streets. Punk isn’t big here, but that doesn’t stop me. The picture I’m sending you of me was taken by August after I dyed my hair. Brown is a nice colour, but my true punk soul remembered when my hair was bright red (I didn’t quite like the blue as much) last year, so...

Safety pins as facial jewelry is quite a dramatic introduction to punk. Although, I do have to admit, I would love to see James Potter with a safety pin in his face. If I was in London right now, I would stick one into my own face, no hesitation (...maybe a little hesitation). 

Being able to use magic whenever you want is a blessing. Everything’s become so much easier and more interesting. The weather here is lovely, actually. It gets a bit hot, but nothing too extreme. 

Sincerely yours, 

Sage

 

Dear Sirius,

You can take the girl away from punk stuff, but you can’t take the punk out of the girl. I dyed my hair bright red. Can you believe it? I love the way it turned out! 

I heard you’re tormenting James. If we ever want to convert him over totally, we’ve got to ease him into it. He has heard the Clash’s new album (not that new, but…) right? I think he might like it. You both do enjoy lots of rock bands, so...

I hope your living situation is going well! I dunno if you’ve found your own place yet, but I’m hoping you find (or found) a great place. 

Sincerely,

Sage

 

My dearest Wendy,

I hope you didn’t scream when you looked at the picture. I dyed it red! I love it so far! 

Anyways, I’m so happy you’re enjoying New York so much! I love all the pictures you sent, they’re all so interesting. I wish we were together, but alas... 

Sorry this letter’s so short, I was out all day today and I’m writing this before I go to sleep. Wishing you safety and adventure!

Loving and missing you,

Sage

 

My darling  Sage,

I take it back - America is chaos. For two days (wednesday and Thursday) parts of New York had a blackout. There was looting and such... it was wild. This poor British girl didn’t sign up for this. 

Luckily, now the power’s back on (yay!) and I’m feeling much better than the last two days. 

I met a wizard! His name is Jonathan and he goes to Ilvermorny! He’s started to tell me all about it, and I’m filling him in on what Hogwarts is like. I told him I’m a Hufflepuff, so he told me he thought he might be sorted into Slytherin. After he explained them to me, I think the Ilvermorny house I’d be in would probably be Pukwudgie. Jonathan is a Horned Serpent. 

Loving and missing you,

Wendy

 

Dear Sage, 

I’m no longer mooching off the Potters - I’ve found my own place. It’s quite nice, I must say, living alone is nice. And I already love your red hair, more than you can imagine. And James told on me, with the safety pin. Well, I’ve got something to tell you all about (I was going to tell you anyways). 

Before I moved out, James and I decided to go on a bit of an adventure. So I’m sure, in his letters to you, he’s the perfect gentleman. But as you know, he’s quite the troublemaker (although he is mostly now reformed). We still do enjoy getting in to quite a bit of trouble. 

My flying motorcycle. The best thing to ever exist. My child. The light of my life. I don’t want to get into the details of how, but at some point, there was a time where James and I were driving around on the ground (my long hair flowing in the wind flawlessly) and ended up getting in a bit of trouble with the muggle police. We were pulled over, gave some charming answers to their questions, were generally hilarious, you know. 

But THEN - and you won’t believe this - three men on broomsticks come flying down into the alley we’re in, with the muggles. So James and I, being as amazing as we are, levitated the policeman’s car so that they would run into it. It worked, and we ended up flying off into the sky. 

Then we did some other stuff, it’s not important. But my main thing is telling you that we have had quite an eventful summer. Hopefully those men forgot our names and that we could fly and do magic... 

Hoping your summer is as fun as ours has been,

Sirius 

 

Sirius, 

Okay, first off, I can’t believe I’ve never been on this flying motorcycle. You’re a fiend for keeping this from me. 

Anyways, you complete and utter Gryffindor! You told them your names??? That’s totally going to bite you later... I can’t believe you two. What kind of arrogance - ugh, I feel like McGonagall. “Never, in all my years at Hogwarts, have I seen this kind of reckless behavior…” 

I’m honestly at a loss for words. I’m not  _ mad _ at you, I know that, I’m more... amazed? Embarrased? Surprised? No, I’m not surprised. I don’t know. I think I might scold James a little, though. 

Try not to get arrested for my sake (oh, and I hope you’re enjoying your new place). 

Thanks,

Sage

 

James Potter,

I found out about your brush with the muggle police. I must say, I’ve never heard of anyone doing something so reckless, so thoughtless. A disrespect for authority and the law, you, James Potter, are certainly foolish.

Oh, I’m not good at this. I was trying to scold you, but over letter... just imagine me scolding you. Bad James. Don’t break the law (and get caught). Bad. Stop. 

But really, try not to get into too much trouble. If you’re in jail, you can’t go back to Hogwarts. And I don’t know what I’d do without a James Potter in my school. 

Totally, 100% mad at you,

Sage

 

My dearest Wendy, 

America sounds wild. A blackout? In the middle of summer? I can’t even imagine. But you meeting and befriending an American wizard is great! I’m so looking forward to hearing all about Ilvermorny (and everything else). 

Sirius and James almost got arrested, the fools. It involved a flying motorcycle, three men on broomsticks, the muggle police, and a disrespect for the rules. The whole thing was such a Gryffindor thing to do, honestly...

Loving and missing you (and wanting to get into a bit of trouble),

Sage

 

Dear Sage, 

I can’t believe Sirius sold me out like that. What a dog. 

I’d much rather imagine you here doing things other than scolding me. Perhaps playing a bit of chess, or reading a book. Responsible things, you know. Now that Sirius has moved out, I’m rather lonely. I get into plenty of trouble on my own, but with him... I’m at the top of my game. 

I wish you weren’t in France, I’d love for you to come and keep me company for a while. You know - doing responsible things. Working on homework. Eating our vegetables. Not doing drugs.

Okay, my mum isn’t watching me write anymore. I don’t want to work on homework with you. I think you know what I want to do.

Missing you,

James 

 

My darling  Sage, 

I’m back in England! It’s so nice to be back, although I’m already bored. I know so much about America now, both wizarding and “nomaj” cultures.

I miss disco already. Punk is nice, but getting into that funky groove... amazing. 

Also I can’t believe (I can) the boys!!! That’s absolutely mad! 

Loving and missing you, 

Wendy

  
  
  
  


Dear Remus, 

I’m sending you chocolate for not being as dumb as James and Sirius. Did they tell you what they did? Absolutely mad, honestly. 

I hope you’re staying out of trouble & are taking care of yourself. Stay safe. 

-Sage

 

Dear Sage,

I must say, that letter was a surprise. I’m honestly shocked and appalled that you have never been on my motorcycle (my baby, the love of my life), and I suggest we find a way to fix this. Perhaps at the end of the summer? 

Anyways, I’ll try to keep out of prison (at least before I graduate), as I don’t think I’d quite fit in there. 

Sincerely, 

Sirius

 

Dear James,

You scandalous boy. I do know what you want (and I must admit I’m not opposed). But, alas, here we are, far apart from each other, and I don’t think August would be okay with me popping over there to do... homework. 

Missing you as well, 

Sage 

 

Dear Sage,

Me, scandalous? Surely you are referring to a different James Potter. This James Potter is willing to risk getting caught by your brother, as he would never do anything worth reprimanding. Is the Sage Charles I speak to up to it? 

Wanting to see you, 

James Potter (innocent boy)

 

Innocent James Potter, 

This Sage Charles is going to be visiting Wendy soon. Perhaps James will be around. This Sage is okay with any James Potter, as long as it’s him. 

Still missing you,

Sage

 

Wendy!!!

I’M COMING SOON! ALSO I THINK I MIGHT SEE JAMES?? I DON’T KNOW. I MISS YOU. Stay safe. 

-Sage

  
  


Dear James,

I’m home. Seeing you was nice. Want to do it again. I’m really tired. 

Sweet dreams,

Sage

 

Dear Sage,

I can’t believe you got me chocolate! Thank you so much! I ate all of it almost immediately, but I’m saving the last bits. 

I did hear about Sirius and James’ little adventure. I guess when I’m not around, they tend to almost get arrested. What smart boys. 

I’m sending you a book I think you’ll enjoy. It’s about a bee who falls in love with a human. Ridiculous, right? 

Thanks again.

Remus 

 

Dear sirius, 

The anger I have over how beautiful all these goddamn French people are is immeasurable. Enclosed are some of the many friends I’ve made. They’re all too beautiful. I thought you might appreciate their beauty as well. 

Stay safe,

Sage

Sage,

Do you ever think we could be together?

I think we could.

James

 

James,

Every time I try to put a label onto something, it gets worse. And I don’t want to give this up.

Open to ideas,

Sage

 

Sage,

I think that some day, I’ll convince you otherwise. But I’d rather woo you face-to-face. 

Looking forward to proving you wrong, 

James

 

My darling  Sage, 

I miss you!!! My birthday was spectacular and I enjoyed having you around (except for when you and James went off together) so much!!!

I think of what you told me while you were here a lot. Every time I hear anything new about the war, I get so scared for you and all my loved ones. Fuck this. I wish I was better at dueling so I could fight those goddamn dark magic wielding fuckers.

You are my best friend and I love you to bits. Be safe. Tell August hi for me.I know he can protect himself, but tell him to stay safe as well. Lord knows he needs extra protection. 

Loving and missing you,

Wendy

 

Sage, 

You are incredibly correct. These French people are too fucking beautiful. It’s unfair. I suggest we riot. 

Also, can you believe James is Head Boy? I nearly pissed myself laughing when he told me. I reckon they think he’s a golden boy. Wow, how wrong they are. 

Sirius

 

Dear James,

YOU’RE HEAD BOY??? WHY? Also, when was I going to find this out? 

Sage

 

My dearest Wendy,

August and I are staying at the Leaky Cauldron the night of the 26th. I can’t wait to see you! I miss you! 

Also, on a more depressing note, stay safe & out of trouble. Merlin knows things are getting more and more dangerous, especially for you. I love you. (Also I know you’re going to tell me “but Sage, you’ve had sightings of Death Eaters nearby!” But I am not as big of a target to them as you are.) I wish I was there to protect you (August’s been teaching me more deuling things. He’s a really good teacher, I must say. I’m learning loads.)

Loving and missing you, 

Sage

 

Dear Sage,

Yeah, I’m Head Boy. And for all the reasons a Head Boy is chosen - I am honest, good, and hard-working. I was going to wait to tell you and when I see you on the train impress you with my beautiful badge, but a certain scoundrel with long, black hair has a mouth. Or a hand, I guess. 

An excellent character model, 

James Potter, Head Boy

 

My darling  Sage,

I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!!! I love you! Be safe.

-Wendy 

 

Dear Sirius,

I genuinely do not believe that James is head boy. Has Dumbledore finally lost his last marble? If he wanted to promote James, why not make him Quidditch Captain? Oh shit, is he still going to play? Fuck. I forgot to ask him. Oh well. I’ll find out later, I guess.

I don’t want to leave all my beautiful French friends. I suffer at the hands of having working eyes and going to school in the UK. But I would probably die if I really went to Beauxbatons, based on the veela population there. 

Seriously baffled as to how James is head boy, 

Sage

 

James “Head Boy” Potter,

? Okay, that’s fine, I guess?? 

Anyways, when are you coming to Diagon Alley? I’m at the Leaky Cauldron right now with August and Wendy. I’m guessing ‘the Marauders’ are all coming together. Either way, I’m looking forward to seeing you once school starts. 

But I guess even on the train I’ll have to wait to see you, won’t I? Because the Head Boy has to talk to the Prefects and stuff, right? Also, I heard Lily Evans is Head Girl. I love her. Be nice to her and don’t torment her too much. 

Sincerely, 

Sage Charles, Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain (but not Head Girl, for some reason.)

 

Dear Sage,

I was in Diagon Alley two days ago! The lads and I went together, as you guessed. Being Head Boy is nice until I actually have to do stuff. I want to just relax on the train, but noooo I have to “direct the prefects” and stuff. 

School approaches. I cower, noble Gryffindor stricken down at the prospect of homework. When will I be freed from this neverending torment? Realistically, when I graduate, but at what cost must I wait? The NEWTS are going to kill me. James Potter, dead at age 17. 

At least you will be there to comfort me in my dying days. 

Looking forward to seeing you, 

James 

 

My darling  Sage, 

I got too many goddamn books. I guess the real problem is they assigned too many goddamn books. The N.E.W.T.s are going to drain my youthful life force away. When I graduate, I will leave Hogwarts as old as Dumbledore. (Kill me) 

I can’t believe there’s only a couple days until we have to get on the train and go back to school. A part of me is excited because I love Hogwarts, but then the rest of me says “Wendy... you’ll have to do school work.” I cry.

Loving and missing you, 

Wendy 


	17. Seventeen

            “So, you haven’t read this?” Sage Charles asked a relaxed Remus Lupin, holding up the book he sent her over the summer. After reading it all in one go, Sage had decided she needed to talk to someone about it, but found herself without. So, minutes after greeting the scarred boy as they rode the train to get back to school, she pulled out the book she hadn’t been able to forget.

            “No,” said Remus, smile on his face as he looked at the flustered Hufflepuff across from him. “I saw it and thought you might enjoy it.”

            Next to Sage, Wendy Greene was obviously disgusted. She glanced at the two of them, then out of the train compartment’s window. Her hand covered her face in shock as she looked at Sirius Black who sat next to Remus, a look similar to hers on his face.

            “So you sent her a book about a woman falling in love with a bee without even subjecting yourself to it first?” Wendy asked, brown eyes open wide. Beside her, Peter Pettigrew sat with his head in his hands.

            “I need to talk to someone about this!” Sage groaned dramatically, “she leaves her human fiancé for a bee. _A bee._ ” Drawing out her words, the Hufflepuff looked directly into Remus’ eyes as she spoke. “A bee, Remus.”

            Across from her, the werewolf just smiled, eyes bright and mischievous. There were new scars on his face from over the summer: a scratch on his nose and what seemed to have been a deep cut from his temple to the bottom of his chin, running down the side of his face. His sandy-brown hair was shorter, but not by much, and a shade lighter after all the sun it saw over the summer. He wore the same type of clothes he always did - comfortable and ratty but somehow still charming. A yellow sweater hung off his torso, going well with his brown eyes and deep blue jeans.

            Next to him, Sirius Black looked like a different type of life form. He was, as always, devilishly handsome, with sparkling grey eyes and a look telling everyone he was up to no good. With his long black hair pulled back into a messy bun (with just a few strands falling to the right of his face, curled just enough to look elegantly messy) and a leather jacket pulled over a shirt dedicated to a rock band, he was an expert on the ‘effortlessly perfect punk’ look. Over the summer, he had been living on his own for the first time, and while he was happy with his independence, he was happy to go back to Hogwarts and be with his friends.

            “I hate you,” Sage said, glaring at the boy. His grin got wider as he noticed the way she tried to hide a smile and the amused glint in her eye.

            “Why do I want to read it now?” Wendy looked at the book in her best friend’s hands wearily.

            “You don’t,” said Sage, humorless.  

            “I mean, I _know_ , logically, but…” letting out a breath, Wendy scolded herself mentally. “It’s like it’s calling me.”

            Wendy Greene was always stylish and her look for the train ride back to school was no exception. Her dark, kinky hair fell around her head beautifully, surrounding her face in what almost looked like a halo. Her outfit, a matching set of jean pants and a jacket - the latter of which was covering a striped t-shirt - was perfectly on-fashion, as she tended to be. On her feet were a pair of Converse shoes she had gotten toward the beginning of the summer when she had visited America and had not taken off since.

            “Don’t answer.” Sage put the book down and fell back onto the train compartment’s cushioned seat brazenly. Her head against the fabric, her eyes met Remus again. “You owe me. I suffered this summer because of this book.”

            Sage was, of course, being overdramatic. The bee book led her to enjoy herself far too much (to the point where her brother had checked on her to see if she was okay, she was laughing so hard). She considered herself to be a sort of connoisseur when it came to bad books - she adored when things got truly ridiculous and forgot the (or created new) laws of reality.

            “How about I repay you by buying you a chocolate frog?” Remus stood upon noticing the trolley outside their compartment. Even if she didn’t want anything, he still had quite a sweet tooth and would be happy to buy himself candy.

            In her mind, Sage debated over accepting and getting chocolate or refusing. On one hand, she could tell him he didn’t have to and such (it would be polite, she supposed, to tell him not to bother). In the end, the bee book lay on the compartment’s table as the girl munched on frog-shaped chocolate.

            “Do you want the card, Peter? I don’t really collect them, unless they’re someone I think is interesting. Chauncey Oldridge, first victim of Dragon pox, isn’t… cool to me, I dunno.”  Looking at the boy who was on Wendy’s other side, Sage offered him the card.

            He took it, looking at the picture on it of a man with spotted, green skin, a purple rash on his cheek. “Gross,” Peter said, scrunching up his nose, and put the card away.

            Not as stylish as (and assembled in much more of a hurry than) her best friend’s, Sage Charles’ outfit was simple. She threw on a pair of high-waisted jean shorts (her brother had given them a look and made a face which told her he thought they were much too short, but he kept silent) along with a white shirt, its sleeves now rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was shorter than it had been when she left Hogwarts for the summer, coming out of her head in soft waves, stopping just before her shoulders. The waves of brown hair were dyed (magically, with her brother’s help) a bright red over the summer, but she went back to natural the previous day for school. Days of being out in the sun in her garden had caused the freckles on her skin to pop.

            Peter Pettigrew spent the summer with his mother, being a very good son. He helped her in trimming her begonias, taking care of her cat, and helping her make jam. Over the summer, a girl had moved in next door - a Muggle his age who was very pretty. He came up with a genius plan to woo her - he would never speak to her, only stare at her from afar (though, he preferred to call it 'admiring' more than 'staring') and run away anytime she came close. The summer went by without him speaking to her twice! (Though, there was the time where he was trimming dead leaves off his mother's lilac bush near the border between their two yards and she came up - out of nowhere - and spoke to him. He went bright red and froze; she ended up leaving, going about her life thinking he was mute.)

            The group was missing a person - James Potter, who, as Head Boy, had to instruct the prefects before he could go off on his own. James’ absence was noticed, and he was missed, but the group made do without him, knowing he soon would be free to hang.

            Wendy eyed Sirius as he opened a box of Bertie Bott’s and poured a few beans into his hand. Her eyes narrowed as he brought the hand up to his mouth, cupping the multi-coloured candies. There were all different colours in his hand, a rainbow assortment of beans with different - most likely gross - flavours, and he was seemingly going to eat all of them at once.

            “You aren’t gunna--” Sirius’ hand, about to shove all the beans in his mouth, froze as Wendy spoke. Lowering his arm and looking right back at her, Sirius responded to her and gave her a look like _she_ was the weird one.

            “What?”

            “Were you just about to eat a handful of random flavoured beans?” Wendy, obviously disgusted, glanced at Sage, who had stopped eating her chocolate frog to look at Sirius suspiciously, and back at Sirius.

            “...yeah, and?”

            “Do you, like, hate yourself or something?”

            “Nah, it’s just interesting.” Sirius shrugged, moving his hand about so the beans shifted, as if he was swirling a wine glass slowly. With a glance at the beans, he continued. “A flavour journey.”

            Nobody said anything for a second, so Sirius shrugged once more before shoving all the beans in his mouth. Various noises of disgust came from the group. They couldn’t even imagine how gross it tasted, but they were all sure it wasn’t good. Disgusted but fascinated, they all watched Sirius intensely, observing every change in his facial expression, hoping it would clue them in to what he was tasting.

            It did.

            He took them on a trip. Without opening his mouth, they all knew exactly how he felt about what he was experiencing. With Sirius as their guide, the adventure was an epic one. By the end, they were more affected than him. As they all sat in disbelief, he swallowed and leaned back, a smile on his face as he washed the hell food down with pumpkin juice.

            Shaken and trying to distract herself, Sage got another book out of her bag and brought her knees up to her chest, her feet on the cushion. She opened the book (which was actually good) before her gaze shifted to the window next to her. Rain tapped on the glass, leaving behind droplets of water which reflected the world around them in tiny blots. The landscape rolling by was visible through the rain, though it was hard to see very far. Attention going back to the book in her hands, Sage began to read.

            Walking down the train’s corridor, James walked by compartment after compartment confidently. He did not bother with looking in to any of the compartments - he knew exactly where his friends would be. They used the same compartment ever since their first year when they met. In fact, they carved their initials into the wall during the ride home after their first year ended - a lifetime ago. It was hard to believe that the first time he stepped foot on the train, he was eleven. Now seventeen, James was a whole different person. As he walked, he wondered briefly what his younger self would say if he told him he was Head Boy (he reckoned he would’ve laughed).

            Once he reached the compartment, he paused and looked through the window on the still-closed door. Sirius was mid-laugh with his head resting on Remus’ shoulder. Remus was rolling his eyes. On the other side was Peter, who seemed to be asleep. Next to him was Wendy, talking to the boys in front of her. And finally, sitting with her feet up next to the window, was Sage. She seemed quite invested in the book she was reading, the tip of her thumb in her mouth so she could gnaw on the nail. Her brow furrowed as she read, but relaxed as she glanced away from the book and out the window at the rain for a second before going right back to reading.

            “Hey, James!” A wave of greetings came at James when he finally slid open the door, stepping inside and closing it behind him. Grinning, he sat down in the open spot next to Sirius.

            “How was your first encounter with being Head Boy?” Sirius asked. James’ eyes raked over Sage, whose feet had moved from on her seat with her to the floor again. Her book sat closed in her lap with a finger holding her spot. Upon noticing her smile and bright eyes, James felt his heart start hammering and butterflies begin to flutter in his stomach.

            Expertly hiding his feelings, he looked away from her and grinned at Sirius, rolling his eyes and taking on his ‘cool-guy’ persona.

            “Exhausting,” said James with a sigh. “I dunno how I’m gunna do it the whole year, oversee the whole school.”

            “Well at least you aren’t alone,” said Wendy. “You’ve got Lily, and the prefects, and the teachers...”

            “Yeah,” Sage grinned, “and now you get to use the prefect’s bathroom. It’s heavenly.” As Hufflepuff’s Quidditch captain, Sage could use the bathroom as well. The giant bath was amazing for unwinding from schoolwork.

            “I don’t like having responsibility,” James moaned, dramatically leaning on Sirius as he pretended to cry. Sirius shushed him, rubbing his arm comfortingly.

            James, unlike the rest of them who were all in street clothes, was already wearing his robes. His black hair was messy (despite his mother’s efforts to fix it before he got on the train - she wanted her beloved son to look his best, as he was Head Boy now) and sticking up in the back as it always did. He had gotten a new pair of glasses, these ones with thin brown frames. They were large and took up a significant amount of his face with their square-shape just as the old ones had.

            “Why do we have to grow up? Why can’t we stay, like, 5 years old where we get to be happy and eat loads of candy because we haven’t developed a sugar intolerance yet?” Wendy said, depressed.

            “It’s immoral. Cruel. The biggest problem facing our generation.” Sage sighed dramatically. Her eyes on James, she noticed something.

            “Ooh, I like the…” she paused, brow furrowed, as she tried to remember the word. She _knew_ this would happen - she’d been speaking only in French all summer, and the rapid shift back to English was both nice and confusing. As she searched her mind, she cursed herself for not being able to remember the English word for what she wanted to mention. “The… fuck.”

            Sage looked off into nowhere. This had happened a few times over the summer with things both French and English - it was like her brain was just too busy to remember words properly.

            “The, the…” moving her hands around in a meaningless gesture, Sage groaned. “I can’t even remember the fucking word in French.”

            For a second, she sat there unblinking, hand on her chin, before she lit up and pointed at James, saying excitedly, “the badge!”

            “Ohhh,” the rest of the group said all at once, their own brows unfurrowing as they understood. James grinned and pulled his robes so they could see it better. It shined in the light, the gold complimented by a bit of red.

            “It’s nice, right?” He stuck his chest out, proud. “I don’t want to brag but, uh,” he grinned, “it only took me 3 tries to pin it on.”

            “Wow, James,” Remus said, voice sarcastic, “only 3?”

            “Or more. It kept being crooked.” Letting go of the fabric of his robe, James leaned forward and clapped his hands together. “So! What were you all talking about while I was gone? I assume many topics were about my absence and how missed I was.”

            “We were too overcome with grief over your absence to talk about anything else.”

            “We played Fuck, Marry, Kill with the teachers,” said Sirius once he finished laughing at Sage.

            “Oh? How was that?”

            “Terrible,” they all said at once.

            “I’ll never be able to look at McGonagall again.” Wendy shivered, looking as if she was ready to throw up.

            “Nice,” said James, leaning back with a smile on his face.

            “Sirius took us all on a flavour journey,” said Sage.

            “What?”

            “I ate a handful of every flavour beans, they all watched me super close - I was like their spiritual guide. It was glorious.” Sirius put his head back on Remus’ shoulder.

            “...did you eat the whole box?” James asked, brow raised. Sirius smirked and pulled out the box, beans still filling it halfway.

            “Here you go, my fr--” Sirius began to hand the boy the container, but before he could, Sage leaned over and grabbed it quickly. She sat back, glaring at the two boys, holding the box in her hands protectively.

            “We aren’t going on another flavour journey. One was too many.” Opening the box, Sage looked closely at a red bean before putting it in her mouth. Her expression changed immediately as it became clear the flavour she got was not one she was enjoying. She began to look at Wendy pleadingly, making various noises of displeasure.

            “Swallow it!” Wendy said, not knowing what else would help. Sage grimaced but obeyed (it was horrible - like a tiny, moldy water balloon slid down her throat, leaving behind a taste she wished she could forget). “What was it?”

            “Fucking rotten tomato. What the fuck. I hate these goddamn beans.” Sage looked at the box and the beans still inside of it. “Why do I want more?”

            “Because you love to suffer? I dunno,” Wendy shrugged, took the box from her, and picked a random bean before popping it in her mouth. The others could tell based on her expression what she felt - confused.

            “What was it?” Sirius asked, stealing the box back slyly and handing it to James.

            “I think it was wood? I… I’m not even mad. I just don’t understand.” Wendy moved her tongue about in a way she hoped would get the taste out of her mouth as James shoved a handful of beans into his own.

            “Of fucking course,” Sage sighed, watching James’ face - his eyebrows had shot up, a nice and dramatic start to this new interesting journey.

            At some point, the conversation lulled enough for Sage to fall asleep. Her knees up against her chest and her head leaning on the cushioned wall, she dozed off until Wendy shook her awake so they could get dressed. While they were out of the compartment, they ran into many people they knew, greeting everyone with a smile and a hug.

            By the time they got back to their compartment, it was almost time to get off the train - but looking out the window wouldn’t have revealed this, as the sun had gone down and it was impossible to see where they were. The rain continued to hammer onto the train, louder now as the weather worsened. As Sage stared out into the dark, her mind wandered.

            James watched her as she zoned out. He wanted to take her away from the compartment with their friends and pull her into one where he could be alone with her. His eyes grazed over her face, looking at the way her jaw was shaped, how her eyes looked. He let out a sigh, remembering all the letters she had sent.

            In particular, he recalled the response she gave to a letter he had written and sent while under the influence. She had told him - in reference to his suggestion of them becoming something more, officially - every time she gave something a label, it failed. Neither of them wanted this to end, but James wanted something new to begin. He was going to convince her to give him a try. Hopefully, the longing gazes and stolen kisses wouldn't kill him first.

            James snapped out of his trance when Sirius elbowed him with a raised eyebrow. He glanced between James and Sage, giving his best friend a look which made him shrug in response.

            “Ah, fucking finally,” Sirius said as soon as the train began to slow. The rain became louder, heavier, hitting the roof unaffected by the movement of the train. “I’m starved.”  

            Soon enough, the train stopped, but the teens hung back a bit as to not get trampled by the crowds (although, as the oldest students, they would probably be the ones doing the trampling).

            Sage, fingers playing with her Captain’s badge on her robes, looked up at James. He was looking out the window, trying to see what was going on (all he could make out was some lights and various blurs). His eyes drifted away from the glass, looking around at the people in the compartment before he made eye contact with Sage.

            She smiled at him, blinking slowly. His eyes glued on her, he looked at her eyes, wishing he was closer. The green was beautiful from where he was, but up close, when he could see all the different shades, with those specks of gold? Breathtaking. And somehow, as she looked at him, she showed him the raw emotion she was hiding under her tough skin.

            “Whelp,” Sirius stood, breaking their stares, and opening the door. “Let us go eat. After the sorting, I mean.” With Remus behind him, the Gryffindor headed off the train.

            James woke Peter (who had fallen asleep again after getting dressed) and followed him to the carriages. Soon after he sat down, the girls came running out, trying to avoid the rain. Sage had Wendy’s hand in hers as she pulled the girl behind her. Wendy used her free hand to cast an umbrella spell so her hair would stay dry.

            After sitting down in the carriage, the group rode along to Hogwarts, all about to start their final year. An anxious excitement was surrounding the group, who were all looking forward to all the new adventures the school had to offer them.

 


	18. Eighteen

            Sage awoke the next morning in a different but familiar place. No longer in her bedroom she slept in all summer, she was back at Hogwarts, in her dorm. The Hufflepuff Basement always had a way of making people feel at home, and this was no exception. She threw the patchwork quilt from her body with a smile, looking over at Wendy who was rubbing her eyes, only just awoken as well.

            The two girls dressed quickly, heading to the Great Hall with a few other seventh-year Hufflepuffs as well as a few first-years who were giddy with excitement over learning magic.

            As they walked to the Hall and sat down, Sage had a lovely conversation with one of the girls who spoke of her life before Hogwarts. The conversation took a sad but all-too-common turn when the girl mentioned her house placement.

            “I reckon they’ll be upset. My mum’s the type who thinks Hufflepuff is for losers. My older brother, Jedediah, who I told you about, he’s in Gryffindor - a third year. I haven’t seen him since last night. I reckon he’ll be disappointed in me.”

            “You know, I was the first person in my family to be sorted into Hufflepuff,” Sage told the girl with a sad smile. “I was so worried, my brother was in his last year at the time. He was the best in his year at dueling and a proud Slytherin. My mum wanted me to be in Ravenclaw like her. But there I was, a Hufflepuff. I was so ready for my brother to see me and tell me he thought I wasn’t his sister anymore, disown me. But the next morning, he spotted me as I walked in for breakfast and ran over to give me a hug and tell me how happy he was about me finding where I belonged. Soon enough, my mum sent a letter saying how proud she was.

            “And even though they accepted me, I still thought I was in the lamest house. The one for losers, for the extras the other houses didn’t want. But over time, I have come to learn I was wrong. Hufflepuff is my home and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. To be a Hufflepuff is to be kind, to be accepting. We are loyal, hardworking, getting things done and done well.” The smile Sage gave the girl was warm and loving, and she hoped it would be the cherry on top of her motivational speech.

            Though, the first bit about August was a lie – it wasn’t as if he was _unsupportive_ , but he… well, he was never good at feelings or offering comfort. And Sage wasn’t really _that_ worried. But if she was, August would’ve been no help. What he really did was ask her how she was settling in, no reference to which house she was in other than the “how’s it treating you” questions. Her mother _did_ send her a letter, but it was less “I’m proud” and more “you forgot your favourite stuffed animal, but I sent him to you,” with an afterword of “congratulations on getting into Hufflepuff – I always had a feeling you’d get into there, you are the kindest girl I know.”

            But the ending was mostly true. And Sage had gotten to the point where she defended her house with her heart and soul, and every year there were new kids in the house who didn’t want to be there (in Sage’s third year, a Pure-Blooded, wealthy, snooty girl from a historically Slytherin family was placed in Hufflepuff and hated it so much she tried to switch houses, and when she couldn’t, she locked herself in her room and refused to come out until they placed her in Slytherin. Sage lost track of the girl, but was fairly certain her parents had pulled her out of Hogwarts and sent her to Beauxbatons, as they’d threatened to if she wasn’t moved. Luckily, there hadn’t been anyone as extreme in a while), so there was always a reason for her to defend it. She tried her damndest to convince these kids their house was not a bad thing, but something to be proud of.

            She was going to keep talking and could’ve, but their timetables were passed out, so she decided she should shut up and compare her classes with Wendy.

            “So, you’ve got Potions when I’ve got Arithmancy…” The Hufflepuff looked between the papers and rolled her eyes. Sage snorted.

            “Why are you still taking Arithmancy?” said Sage, teasing as she bit (aggressively) into a banana (because they were in a public place and Merlin knows a girl cannot eat a banana or any such-shaped food without _someone_ taking it the wrong way. Thus, she munched on the banana in the least seductive manner she could manage). With a mouthful of banana goop, Sage reminded her best friend, “you hate it so much.”

            “I know – but I just… I might as well. No matter how much the idea of it annoys me. I mean, come _on_ , it’s basically _math_ – but you all don’t have actual _math_ classes, or any other regular, _necessary_ classes. And it still bothers me that there isn’t a ‘practical magic’ class where Muggle-Borns – or anyone – can learn everyday magic, like cleaning spells and stuff. But why have a _functioning_ education system? F-frick, man.”

            Sage chuckled silently at Wendy’s upset and at the attempt at censorship – there were younger kids around, after all.

            “But whatever,” said Wendy, shaking her head. She looked back at the timetables and forced herself to move on. “We’ve got most of our free periods together…”

            As Wendy finished comparing their schedules, the owls began pouring in with the day’s mail. Sage wasn’t expecting anything from anyone, so she just turned back to her cereal. Across from her, Lola Patterson received a copy of the day’s _Daily Prophet_ , unfolded it with a loud crunch of the paper, and began to read.

            “The Ministry’s passed Ordinance 578,” Lola said, mumbling the highlights of the articles. “Harry Upto’s has gone out of business…”

            “’s been a long time coming,” Amos Diggory said from his spot next to Lola. “Hasn’t sold a single thing since the teapot scandal went public…”

            “Some fools tried to rob Gringotts again…”

            “Really?” Sage asked, interested. Lola nodded.

            “Didn’t get past the goblins at the front desk.” Lola turned the page, “makes me feel better about putting my money in there.”

            “You mean your parent’s money,” said Amos, peeking to read over her shoulder. Lola ignored him.

            “Oh...” Lola’s voice went quiet and grim, “more Death Eater sightings. A few more found… you know.”

            Sage put down her spoon, as she suddenly was no longer hungry. She looked to her left at Wendy who was trying to think of something else, placing an arm around her shoulder. They shared fear over the war and had for a long time. The war scared them since it first reared its head, but over the past few years, it got worse and worse and seemed unlikely to stop anytime soon.

            Sage was scared for Wendy, as she was someone the Death Eaters targeted, while Wendy was terrified for Sage. When she had visited over the summer, Sage had revealed to her there had been Death Eaters spotted in the cafe August worked in. They did not cause trouble, but there was still fear over what could’ve and what still could happen.

            “Any nice news, Lola?” Sage glanced at the first-year girl with fear in her eyes beside her and almost cried – this was affecting too many people. Today should’ve been a delightful day, where this young girl enjoyed her first time in this magic castle, but the war stood to ruin it, just as it ruined everything.

            “Uhhh…” As she flipped through the articles, Lola decided to come up with things. “There were a whole bunch of puppies born today, and many kittens, I’m sure.” Skimming the paper, Lola found something neither bad or neutral. “Oh, it seems they’ve made major progress in the cure for lycanthropy. Ooh, and they’re planning next year’s Quidditch world cup…”

            “Oooh!” Sage said, smile breaking out on her face. “Oh, I wish I could go…”

            “Maybe one day you’ll be able to,” Wendy said hopefully.

            “I doubt it.” Sage turned to the first years and told them, “I’m Hufflepuff’s Quidditch team captain.”

            “She’s got a badge she’s supposed to wear, but it’s rare she puts it on her robes when it’s not a special occasion or she’s going down to the pitch. You might’ve seen it last night.”

            “So you’re really good at Quidditch?” A boy, Grayson Harris, asked, eyes bright.

            “Well, I’d like to think I am,” Sage smiled humbly. Beside her, Wendy began to tell them all about how good Sage was, prompting Sage to shush her best friend.

            “What do you play?” Grayson’s food sat ignored now, as he was only interested in the conversation he was having (it seemed he really loved Quidditch).

            “I’m a Chaser,” Sage told him, as excited about the new topic as the boy. “Have you ever played a game?”

            “Oh, not really,” he said, face red. “I just mess around sometimes. I’ve used my brother’s old broom loads of times, but it’s nothing real.”

            Sage assured him it was and he should keep practicing, so maybe he could try out for the team next year.

            “You’ll have your first flying lesson soon enough,” she said, “I’m sure you’ll do well if you try your hardest.” Grayson turned back to his breakfast, smiling sheepishly.

 

            With their classes set to begin on Monday, Sage and Wendy were excited for the weekend, where they were going to enjoy the castle and their friends. But before they could enjoy the nice (but hot) weather, Professor Sprout, Hufflepuff Head of House, called them into her office (which was just one of the Greenhouses) one-by-one.

            Professor Sprout started Sage out with small talk about the summer, but quickly dived into what she really wanted to discuss - Sage’s future. It seemed 7th year students were to be questioned about their careers and lives after graduation on their first Saturday back.

            Sage, quite flustered (she felt like her brain was spinning around and making siren noises), admitted to the professor that she was unsure. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about it - she just hadn’t decided what she wanted to do yet. But Professor Sprout was unbothered by this and told Sage not to worry. Her advice was to look into the things she liked and was good at - so by the end of her meeting, she left with a feeling of dread and suggestions to talk to Professor Slughorn at some point about what a job in potion-making would be like.

            Wendy and Sage spent the rest of the day and the next catching up with all their friends by the Black Lake, enjoying a cold pumpkin juice under the blazing sun. On Sunday, the weather was dreary, so the day was spent inside, laughing and joking in the Hufflepuff Common Room.

            On Monday, Sage and Wendy got out of bed far too early and went to their first day of classes. Charms was spent with Flitwick telling them what they would be studying over the year, and Divination started with gazing into a crystal ball to see what the year would be like (Sage thought she saw a dragon, but she may’ve just been bored).

            Transfiguration began on Tuesday and as Sage and Wendy walked into the classroom, they greeted Minerva McGonagall, who sat atop her desk in cat form. Sage and Wendy looked at the many tables in the room and debated which to sit at. They didn’t want to sit too far ahead, but not in the back, and not in the middle row because they wanted to be able to stare out the window… It was when they’d narrowed their options down to three different desks when Diana, Wendy’s girlfriend, walked in the room. Wendy’s face lit up, and there wasn’t much Sage could do but tell Wendy to join her.

            “You’re sure?” Wendy asked, not wanting to leave her friend.

            “Go on, I can see how much you want to go over there.” Sage smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

            Wendy grinned and she gave Sage a grateful look before she ran off to join Diana. Sage, hand around her bag strap, let out a sigh as she looked at the three rows of tables around her, most of which were still empty as most of the class had yet to arrive. Without Wendy to talk to, Sage gave up after a moment of debate and just sat down at a table in the middle of the right row.

            Putting her bag down on the floor next to her, Sage rested her elbow on the table and used her hand to support her chin as she let out a breath and closed her eyes. She tried not to think of all the homework she was sure would be assigned, but her mind kept yelling _hey, arsehole, it’s McGonagall. She_ invented _too much homework_.

            Sage’s eyes fluttered open as someone sat down in the empty spot next to her. She knew this would happen, but she didn’t want it to – she would like to be left alone to her self-pity, if given the chance. But someone sat down at her table and all she could do was hope they wouldn’t be too obnoxious.

            As she turned to see who it was, the first thing she thought was _this is new_. She didn’t quite know what to think as she watched James Potter put down his bag and scoot his chair in closer to her desk – _her desk._ He met her gaze and grinned at her.

            With raised eyebrows, Sage smiled at him. She sat up and folded her hands in her lap as he leaned his elbow on the table and turned his torso to face her, looking at her with a smirk.

            “I figured you could use some company,” he said, desperately trying to seem charming as he flashed her a bright white grin, not unlike a fairytale prince.

            “Mm-hmm,” Sage hummed, smile widening at her sudden amusement.

            “And I thought who better to give it to you than me?” James gestured to himself as if he was the best thing ever.

            “Of course,” said Sage, making her voice as serious as possible, her heart beating faster.

            “So, I wa—” cut off as McGonagall turned from cat to woman and began to speak, James turned to face the teacher, glancing at Sage out of the corner of his eye. He was thrilled she had Transfiguration with him, but when he found the seat next to her empty and Wendy settled elsewhere, he could only imagine he’d been blessed by some god. Sure, he got to see her between classes, and yeah, they talked sometimes and during particularly boring lessons would share looks, but this was an everyday thing (although, really more like an every week thing) where he got to sit _next to her!_ He wouldn’t have to chase after her to talk – he could lean over and whisper something funny to her whenever he wanted! And as if it wasn’t enough, this was during Transfiguration - his _best_ subject. If she needed help, he could swoop in like the hero he was, saving _and_ impressing her!

            The class began simply as McGonagall covering their curriculum for the year (she mentioned the N.E.W.T.s and an impressively coordinated groan came from the whole class) as she tended to do on the first day. Taking notes on the important information, Sage was conflicted. As much as James sitting next to her made her heart flutter, she was worried he would be distracting and make it harder for her to pay attention in a class she already wasn’t very good at. But as the class went by, James proved quite nice to have as a partner – he only said a few things to her, and all of these comments quite funny but moved by quick, allowing them both to get back to the lesson.

            Occasionally she’d catch him looking at her, making her blush and her heart race (and she had to admit - she had watched him a few times, inspecting the creases in his forehead as they shifted with his concentration and the way his jaw looked).

            The rest of the week was more of the same. All classes began with summaries of the years curriculum and too many references to the upcoming N.E.W.T.s and graduation, along with the first round of homework. Things started slow, as they always did, but were obviously just beginning. This was the last year, after all – things weren’t going to get simpler, not yet.

            But at least, even with the increase in work, Sage could look forward to sitting beside James in Transfiguration (he kept _looking_ at her, and every time she caught him, he wouldn’t look away – he’d keep looking, making eye contact with her, until she’d break it, unable to help the smile on her face).  

 

            Sage got little free time in September. Schoolwork piled up, as all the teachers wanted to challenge their young minds with little regards to their need for fun. Quidditch try-outs were held, as Sage needed to replace two members of her team (Jet had graduated, and Luke had decided to focus more on schoolwork in his 6th year), gaining a new Chaser and Beater.

            The teachers were still focusing heavily on what the seventh years would be doing after school, questioning them often and reminding them to figure out a plan, all while making sure they took care of their massive workloads. Sage, still quite unsure what she really wanted to do, had told Professor Sprout on a whim “ _doing something with Potions wouldn’t be terrible, probably,_ ” so, obviously, the teacher had Sage look into careers in Potions. As she did this, Sage found herself less than eager to join the workforce, along with Wendy (who was considering a career as an unemployed mess).

            Inspired by her brother, Sage was reading up on dueling whenever she could. August taught her some basic moves and techniques over the summer which was of great aid to her – she was performing much better, but there was still so much she didn’t know – so much to learn – so she kept at it, reading and practicing whenever she had the time (which wasn’t often).

            And then there was James. Aside from Transfiguration, most of their time spent together was in a group. They could flirt then – but only so much, as they had things to do (and it didn’t help that McGonagall watched them close – she seemed suspicious, for _some_ reason) – but couldn’t as much when they were hanging with friends, as flirting became awkward (at least for Sage, as James seemed to have no issues with flirting in public). To be fair, they did flirt often when it came to Transfiguration, even if most of the time it was just _looks_ (as they did before but just not as close together or as often), except for just before and just after class, when they could actually talk to each other. But outside of class, most of their opportunities to hang were because they were studying, and although they tried to focus, often their study sessions would end with them ignoring the work they should’ve been doing to mutually pine.

            This included one Saturday – the first day in October – when Sage sat in the Gryffindor common room with the Marauders, both hanging out and working at the same time.

            “And so _then I_ told _her_ she might as well go conjure a fucking banana, so now she’s _mad_ at me for _some reason_.” Sirius Black, laid on the couch in the exact opposite way one is supposed to sit on a couch (feet over the back, head down where feet _should_ be so he was completely upside-down) told his story about why Dorcas Meadowes was refusing to talk to him.

            Listening intensely from her spot on the floor, Sage took a strawberry out of the bowl she had smuggled up from the kitchens and bit into it. Sirius sighed dramatically, causing Sage to nod in understanding.

            “...am I the only one who is totally lost?” Peter asked from his armchair, speaking to nobody in particular.

            James pointed to the book open in the boy’s lap. Watching Sage out of the corner of his eye, he asked Peter, “in the story or the homework?”

            “Both?” Peter, brow furrowed, groaned. “I hate school.”

            “Honestly? Me too, mate.” Sage dipped her quill in her ink, bringing it to her parchment before adding, “learning is so much more fun when you’re not doing it for a grade.”

            Sage scribbled something down, the ferocious scratch of a quill the only noise she made before it went silent abruptly and she spoke again. “Anyway, Sirius, Dorcas just wants you to apologize to her about the initial comment on the pig. Then she should be fine, but remember to be respectful to her.”

            “Really?” Sirius moved so he sat on the couch correctly, leaning forward to look at Sage. “I thought she forgave me for the pig thing. She said she was, at least.”

            Sage shook her head, then explained to him - Dorcas only _acted_ okay with it and while she really wasn’t. When she finished, she dipped her quill into her almost empty inkwell, trying to get the last bit out. Bringing her quill to the parchment, scribbled down more words she hoped made sense (she really didn’t fucking know what she was talking about when it came to Divination. What the fuck her dreams meant, she didn’t know and did _not_ fucking care. It was a miracle she hadn’t failed the class yet. Every single one of her ‘ _interpretations_ ’ and ‘ _premonitions_ ’ were totally made up, which was getting harder and harder to pull off successfully as time went by. This year, the class was expected to be accurately predicting major world events. Sage was getting past this by predicting things far into the future so there was no way she could be proven wrong. Her latest prediction was for _just_ after graduation - a war would kick off between the creatures in the Forbidden Forest (this wasn’t hard to back up, as everyone knew the forest creatures were always in some kind of conflict - who’s to say if they’d get into a war just after Sage wouldn’t have to answer to her Professors anymore? It worked much better than the Slytherin girl in her class who tried to claim there was a meteor about to run into Hogwarts, killing them all before class could end. Though Sage almost wished this was true, it wasn’t, and the girl had to leave the period grumbling about how her crystal ball was too blurry for her to make out specifics)).

            After explaining something to Peter, James watched Sage struggle to get more ink out of her inkwell. She was scraping the edges, tongue between her teeth.

            “I think it’s empty, Sage,” he said. She looked up at him and sighed.

            “Ugh.” Reaching over and grabbing her bag, Sage dug through it for a minute before whispering, “fuck.” She had forgotten to bring her new inkwell with her even though she knew she would need it - she left it out for herself because she _knew_ she was running low, but forgot to put it in her bag. _Fuck_.

            “Hey,” James said, getting her attention as he moved his open inkwell so it sat between them. “We can share.” As he smiled at her, Sage gave him a look which made his soul feel warm.

            “Thank you, James.” He waved her off, sheepish smile on his face.

            The two turned back to their work and worked until they all desperately needed a break. Peter and some girl were talking about movies as Sirius and James joked on the couch. Sitting on the floor close to the fireplace, looking mournful, was Remus. Sage had no idea why he seemed so melancholy, but she did not want him to be, so she turned away from Sirius and James in a split decision to help and crawled over to him.

            He outstretched his hand, warming it by the fire, legs pulled up to his chest, a dreamy yet despondent look in his eye. He didn’t seem fully there, a faraway feeling radiating off him, as if what she saw sitting there was a projection of him and he was actually in some far-off, remote corner of the world. James and Sirius laughed again, loud and flashy, but Remus showed no sign of hearing them.

            As she inched closer, Sage noticed she was wrong – he was not warming his hand, but just… staring at it, inspecting the scars on the back of it with transfixed eyes as he flexed his fingers. The blue of the veins under his pale white skin was clear, the blood vessels sitting at the surface along with the tendons in his hand, creating bumps and ridges morphing the scars, changing their shapes slightly. There was one scar, more prominent than the others, still red and obviously deep, coming up from under his shirt sleeve, trailing up the back of his hand until it disappeared between fingers.

            “Fire is so beautiful, is it not?” Sage asked him, alerting him to her presence, as she reached and sat beside him. Panic flashed in his eyes for a second before it vanished, replaced with a gentle emotion she had no name for. He retracted his hand, bringing it back to his body and holding it close to him where she could not see, and nodded.

            Sage hated seeing Remus upset and hated that he was such so often. It was almost never when she found out why he was depressed, and she never asked. She just tried to make him feel better.

            For some reason, then she felt the best way to do such was to tell him bad jokes. Like… _bad_ jokes. _Really_ bad jokes.

            “Imagine, if you will,” she began dramatically, making him look at her, confused. “You travel back in time and meet Edgar Allen Poe. You speak for some time - a professional and sophisticated conversation about various things. At some point, you get up, enjoy a nice walk together, silent, as you are both too enraptured by the scenery and its beauty to speak. But as you walk, he gets so distracted, he does not realize he is about to walk into a tree. By the time you notice, you only have time to say one word to him. What one word do you say to Edgar Allen Poe to warn him of his impending collision with a tree?”

            Remus put his hand on his chin, playing along. He picked up on Sage’s joking manner instantly, so he pretended to think for a second before he let out a breath as if he’d given up. “I dunno,” he said, “what should I say?”

            “Poetry.”

            Remus stared at her for a second, face emotionless. In an instant, his expression changed totally and completely, his whole aura radiating brighter as he covered his mouth to keep his laughs in, biting down on his tongue. Sage, grinning ear-to-ear, decided to tell him another _very bad_ joke.

            “A crossover,” Sage continued. Remus gave her a pleading look she paid no mind to. “Between King Midas and King Oedipus would be _pure motherfucking gold_.”

            Remus, unable to take it any longer, burst out laughing. Sage watched him, grinning. He calmed after a second, looking at her with a smile, but she had more, as the last one had reminded her of another.

            “Why was Oedipus against profanity?”

            “Sage, please--”

            “He kisses his mother with that mouth.” Sage watched as Remus rolled his eyes, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. It took him a few seconds to recover, but when he did, his eyes were glistening, and he was grinning right back at her.

            “I’m getting really tired of these motherfucking jokes,” he said finally, making Sage look at him wide-eyed.

            “Did you just--?”

            Remus nodded, causing the both of them to laugh. From his spot on the couch, James was watching Sage as she smiled and joked with his best friend, admiring her. Beside him, Sirius watched Remus look happy and carefree and wished, truly, the werewolf could feel so careless all the time.


	19. Nineteen

            Sage hated Transfiguration. It was dumb, and it was shitty, and whoever came up with the idea for it was a prick, through and through. Did they _want_ her to fail a critical class? She was totally, utterly helpless – ever more than before (she had always been horrid at the class, if she was honest). Friday afternoon, she stared at her textbook with her eyes narrowed at the words as if she wanted to intimidate them into sharing their secrets. There _had_ to be something she was missing. Why was she having _such a hard time_ conjuring things?

            Closing her book and shoving it into her bag, Sage stood. She had to do something else – sitting in the common room and hoping things would suddenly make sense was not fucking working.

            “‘m goin’ to the library,” she said to Wendy, who had been working in the chair next to her.

            “Do you want company?” Wendy sat up, watching her best friend sling her bag over her shoulder.

            “Nah,” Sage began to walk away, waving back at Wendy before she exited the common room. One hand on her bag strap and the other rubbing her eye tiredly, the girl made her way over to the Library.

            As she walked down one of the many corridors in the castle, Sage let her mind wander to places she had not let it lately – more specifically, she finally began to acknowledge her worry over her brother’s safety. She tried to think of something else - _anything else_ \- but her mind seemed to think ‘ _you don’t_ have _anything else to think about! No other thoughts to run to this time!_ ’ and suddenly, Sage was picturing herself at breakfast, reading the names of those newly found dead in the _Prophet_ , and seeing her brother’s name among them. Trying not to imagine the worst but utterly failing, Sage was glad when someone called her name, distracting her.

            “Hey!” James Potter jogged to her, running a hand through his hair. His tie hanging loosely around his neck and smile on his face, he stopped her.

            “Hello, James,” Sage smiled at him, blinking slowly.

            “You okay? Seem tired,” tilting his head at her, the Gryffindor’s eyes looked at hers.

            She nodded, “yeah, but I’m fine.” Taking a deep breath, she perked up. “I was just going down to the Library.”

            “Yeah?” James’ posture relaxed, making him seem more open.

            “Yeah.” Sage paused, and she got an idea. “Hey, are you free right now?”

            James smiled, nodding.

            “Can you help me? You’re really good at Transfiguration and I… I need help.” Sage sighed, hands grasping her bag strap. He helped her loads already this year in sitting next to her, but _Merlin,_ she was just _bad_ at wand magic. And her nervousness around him did not help – like then, when asking for his help, she was standing somewhat close to him and suddenly found herself… _blushy_. And when he smiled at her (when he _looked_ at her, even) she felt herself smile foolishly and her stomach flip. _Fuck_ , she _liked_ him.

            “Yes, of course,” he nodded. _Fuck_ , he was so _nice_ , too. Sage couldn’t help her grin as they started off toward the library.

            As they made their way up stairs and down corridors, they looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes, hearts beating strongly. Both of them liked each other, so what was stopping them? Eh, they would worry about it later – then, they reached the library and found a table near the back where they were not surrounded by people (there were still some around) and sat down next to each other.

            Sage folded her robes once and hung them off the back of her chair, and tightened her short ponytail before she pulled out her Transfiguration book. Beside her, James had taken off both his robe and his tie, and was now just watching her try to find the right page. She spotted it and placed the book open on the table, pointing at it and looking at him pleadingly before saying pathetically, “help.”

            So James helped her. And as she studied how to conjure a rabbit, James studied the way her face looked when she was concentrating and the way her hair looked and the way she bit her lip sometimes and how at some point she went to tighten her ponytail again but gave up on it, just letting her hair fall loosely.

            After a while, Sage turned to him – she needed a fucking break from this shit, or her brain would turn into liquid and fall out of her ears. Since they were in the library, she figured they should stick to working, and since he was being such an immense help to her, she asked, “do you have anything you need help with? I can try to help.”

            James thought for a second (...or more. It took him a bit because his brain stopped working when she ran a hand through her hair) before he nodded and asked if she had her notes from their last Potions class (he had nodded off a bit at the end and Moony refused to let him see his notes). Sage smiled, dug around in her bag a bit, and then handed him the parchment covered in her familiar handwriting.

            He thanked her before he started to look over the words, placing it on the table to read better. Sage tried to look at the notes as well, as she had meant to review them, leaning over get a better look. To steady herself she placed her hand on James’ thigh.

            The second her hand met his trousers, he sat up suddenly, startled. She took this as a sign that he was uncomfortable and removed her hand, blushing and ready to apologize. But as she began pulling it away, James’ fingers wrapped around her wrist and slowly moved it back into place.

            Ignoring the notes (he had gotten the gist – potions exist. They’re liquid and tend to do things of the magical variety), he eyed her. With one brow raised, there was a questioningly suggestive look in his eyes – a kind of curiosity over something he really, really wanted to see the answer to.

            “So, do you want to get out of here?” He asked, speaking slow and keeping his voice casual, handing her notes back. Sage, heart racing, took them and shoved them in her bag as she answered.

            “Yeah,” she glanced at the table behind them, at a studious Slytherin who paid them no mind, then back at James. “I’m ready to get out of here.”

            As they both stood, Sage slipped her robes back on before picking up her bag and wearing it, so its strap went across her chest. Beside her, James hung his off his shoulder, shoving his tie into it and draping his robes over his arm. Heading out of the Library, James led Sage by the hand, their hearts racing.

            James’ hand leading Sage was simple, but for some reason, it felt like so much more to her. She was nervous – who wouldn’t be? – and excited, unaware of what was to come. Her heart raced in anticipation as she wondered where he was bringing her. Taking her through a couple different corridors, they ran down a spiral staircase, faces hot and lungs breathless.

            They jumped off the last step, using it to kick themselves forward as they ran down a corridor Sage had never been in before – it had an arched ceiling like a cathedral right above them, and windows every two feet – castle windows with arched tops letting in rays of sunlight, dancing on the floor. This corridor was so much warmer and brighter than others and seemed to reflect the teenagers’ mood – golden. Their footsteps, loud and hurried, bounced off the walls once, causing the sound to seem clearer and lighter. Sage laughed, her hair flowing behind her, and it hit James like the tinkling of a bell.

            Hearts swelling, they began to slow down as they reached the end of the corridor. It came to an end with a wall with another window, and tucked away on either side were doorways not visible until they were upon them. If they turned to the left, they would meet a wooden door, closed, which nobody had opened in centuries. To their right, there was no door, but the wall went in somewhat, as if there were plans to put in a shallow closet years and years ago.

            James pulled her to the right, into the divot of the wall, where they stood, unseen from the corridor they’d just run through. Her back against the wall, they stood close together, light from the windows allowing them to gaze into each other’s eyes.

            Sage wasted no time to wrap her arms around James’ neck, pulling him even closer, her green meeting his hazel. A foolish grin lived on his face, seemingly permanent, matching her smile which turned up her shining eyes.

            “You’re so amazing,” he said, his hands moving to her hips, breathless.

            “I don’t think I need to tell you anything to boost your ego.” Sage joked, grin flashing to a smirk and back. James pouted, but the corners of his lips stay curled up.

            “The sentiment would be appreciated.”

            “Oh?” Her grin changed to a smirk and her head moved away the slightest bit. He wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her close, causing her back to arch and their bodies to touch. “Well then, where should I start?”

            “Well, you could mention my charming personality, go into my devilishly good looks, talk about my stellar abilities on the Quidditch field…” James listed things, trailing off in an _‘I could go on_ ’ manner. Sage couldn’t help but laugh.

            “Alright, then.” Sage cleared her throat, “James Potter, you are incredibly… magnetic, you’re terribly hilarious, while also wonderfully kind, and you manage to be attractive on top of your stellar personality. You’re captivating, enchanting… you have natural charisma, and you’re delightfully fit. And have you seen your abilities on the Quidditch field? Merlin, you’d think you were born on a broom.”

            James threw his head back, laughed, and looked at her again. “You flatter me.”

            “Yes, that was the point. Now, I’ve got to think of more positive adjectives – hold on…” she looked away, biting her lip as if in deep thought. James could not take his eyes off her – she was so gorgeous, but she’d started listing words and he couldn’t get his own in to tell her so. “Desirable, tempting, appealing, mesmerizing, hypnotizing, miraculous…”

            She went on, but James focused on moving his head – she’d loosened her arms around his neck as she spoke, but his hands were still on her waist, holding her close. He dipped his head down, angling it strangely, and moved to kiss her neck under her chin.

            His lips hit her skin softly, an initial peck making her falter with a giggle as she tilted her head back, so he could get to all her neck. With a smile, he pecked again and again, over and over, as she kept listing.

            “Irresistible, arousing, brilliant…” As she kept on, his pecks turned to actual kisses, lips opening and remaining on her skin for a few seconds before he moved to another spot.

            “Talented, clever, skillful…” His open-mouthed kisses lingered longer and longer. He fell onto a new spot, right in the middle of her neck, his head tilted. He could feel the vibrations of her speech under his already tingling lips, and decided he might as well use another part of his mouth to show her really how talented he could be. Pulling away just enough to disconnect, he touched the exact same spot on her neck, this time not kissing but nibbling.

            “S-smart,” she said, gulping – James felt both things as they happened under his teeth, grinning at the shake in her voice she quickly rid herself of, though it was obvious she was having difficulty in finding new words – there were only so many to think of, and there was only so much she could think with an incredibly attractive boy nibbling on her neck – especially when he was getting very close to a spot she knew would kill her the second he touched it. “and… quick, and… fuck, a little bit to your left— _fuck_.”

            Sage’s arms around his neck tightened again as he did as she said, her hand moving to entangle itself in his hair as she gasped the second his teeth grazed her skin in the exact right spot. He was going to kill her. She forgot words – all words, English and French and the little bit of Polish she knew – except for various curses.

            His teeth brushed over the skin there, slow, before he bit down gently, causing her to tense and gasp. Breathing heavy, her eyes closed, and she let her head fall back onto the stone wall, both of their arms holding her close to him. Her skin tingled as he bit again, and a fluttery breath escaped her.

            He disconnected his mouth from her neck again, letting air brush against her skin, a thin layer of his saliva upon it. It was cold, almost harshly so, but the absence of his mouth was most notable. She was about to say something (most likely “what the fuck, mate?”) when he came back, this time placing his lips on her skin. Sage’s heart beat quick, and just after he touched her again, he began to _suck_.

            It didn’t happen for long before he stopped, but _fuck_ , Sage’s skin was on fire, and the only thing she was feeling was _good_. She groaned the second he started to suck, her hand not entangled in his hair reaching from its spot around his neck to grab some of his shirt on his back, just below his shoulder. But he stopped, and her hands loosened, only to grip tighter when he did two things, one immediately after the other – he let his teeth graze her skin, gentle and tantalizing, and started to suck again.

            She couldn’t help the muffled groan from her closed lips, and she hummed a chuckle as he continued, moving his mouth in ways making her melt. He stopped sucking and let his tongue run over the skin before he started again, the wet suction noises quiet but obvious. There was a fire inside her as she tugged on his hair, making _him_ groan. The vibrations from this hit her skin even as he stopped all action, her breathing still heavy. He pulled away from her neck, this time really, until his head sat normally. His absence against her skin caused her head to fall and her eyes to open.

            Centimeters apart, he looked her deep in her eyes. Her grips on both his shirt and hair loosened, and he swallowed.

            “You can’t keep doing that to me,” he said, voice low and quiet. “Pulling my hair.”

            “I can stop, if you want,” teased Sage – she could tell how much he loved it, and if he would tell her to stop, she would, but she very much doubted he would say any such thing. “If you don’t like it.”

            James sucked his teeth, looking away from her and back, before he smiled. “You know very well that’s not the case.”

            “Is it not?” Feigning innocence, Sage wormed her fingers deeper into his hair. “So… you _do_ like it when I pull your hair?”

            “Sage…” he warned, voice lower and eyes cautionary. Sage grinned – she was having far too much fun. Arms around his neck pulling her closer, she let the hand in his hair tug slightly – enough for him to feel but not enough to bother or do anything but threaten more. “ _Sage_.”

            “Oh, alright, I’ll stop,” said Sage, looking quite put-out. “But I do have to say - if you keep going at my neck, I don’t know _what_ might happen with my hands.”

            James let out an amazed chuckle, looking her over. “You’re very bold.”

            “I know what I want.” Shrugging and smirking, Sage looked him over right back.

            “Oh?” he said, intrigued. Eyebrow raised, he asked her, “and what might that be?”

            This was something Sage should have seen coming – of _course_ he would ask her to elaborate. How could he not, when she said something like that? But she was not quite prepared to tell him – at least, she would have to work up a little more nerve. She’d never done anything like this before – she’d never felt this way about anyone before. Sure, she had physical relationships in the past, but this went beyond them. She had _emotional_ relationships in the past, but this was more than those, too. Nothing she’d done in the past held a flame to whatever she had with James. She’d never felt like this before, she’d never been so sure about wanting something like this – she’d never wanted something like this – a relationship. A _real_ one - not just something where she was obsessed over someone and couldn’t control her need for companionship.

            Over the summer, she told James she didn’t like labels because they never worked out, but now? Fuck, she wanted a _label_. She wanted to be able to call James something – _anything_ – but she didn’t know how to tell him. She needed a little more nerve, to be a little bolder. A little braver.

            And who best to get bravery from than a Gryffindor? And this was not just _a_ Gryffindor, he was _the_ Gryffindor Golden Boy, the Head Boy, the boy with contagious laughter and a heart of gold. He radiated bravery – there were waves of it coming from him, and Sage thought it was what made her bold. But she needed more – just a little – to tell him.

            So she kissed him. She took her hand out of his hair, used her arms to pull her up, tilted her head and closed her eyes, and kissed him. It was deep, and it was passionate, and could’ve been taken as an answer to his question had she not spoken immediately after.

            “ _I want to be with you_ ,” she said, heart beating as hard as it did when she came down from the sky after winning a Quidditch game. Her lips were still close enough to his so he could feel them brush against his as she spoke. It took her a second to pull away, but when she did, he was looking at her, flustered.

            “You mean, like, right now? I mean, we’re already together—you’re with me right now. Unless you mean…” He took in a breath, eyes searching her. “Do you mean...?”

            “James, I want to be _with_ you. Us. Together. A couple.” Sage’s face felt hot – the longer she was away from his lips, the less brave she became. This was only amplified as she had to explain herself, but James seemed to just not get it. She could feel her face getting warm (and not in the fun way it had just been). For the past few minutes, she felt like she was on a cloud somewhere - floating in a dream. But she was coming down and felt more and more like she was in real life, saying words with real meanings.

            “You—but you said, before—”

            “I know what I said before, but… I dunno, I’ve decided I wrong.” Taking in a breath, Sage closed her eyes and spoke more, as James was too shocked to formulate words. “Listen—I wasn’t kidding, earlier, when I was saying all those nice things. You really are amazing, and you’re so nice to me and you’re just… you know how to make me laugh and you make me nervous in the best way, and you’re so interesting and creative and smart, and I just _really_ like you, and—”

            This time, James kissed her. It was sudden, and she was mid-word, but he just pressed their mouths together, moving his to rid her of words. He was unable to think straight, but in the moment, he was so overcome with emotion, he almost cried. She _liked_ him. She _really liked_ him. She wanted to _be with_ him, and he had not felt this happy in months.

            They pulled away slowly, and her eyes were still closed as he began to remember words. Slowly, at first, but he remembered more as time went on, until he had an entire encyclopedia on his tongue.

            “I can’t believe…” he began, breathless. Her eyes opened, and he held her closer just so he could see into them more. “Sage, I’ve had a crush on you for years, and now you’re standing here – _you_ – and I’ve just sucked on your neck and you’ve discovered my weakness and you’re telling me _you_ like _me_ and you want to _be_ with me is… greater than you can imagine. I can’t even… you’re so amazing. You’re beautiful, and you’re kind, and you’re funny, and you’re… when you bite your lip in class, or when you’re racing by on your broomstick, or when you’re comforting somebody, or when you laugh just after you took a sip of something so you inhale it a little and have to recover for, like, two minutes, or when you’re nice to my friends, or when you’re yelling at somebody, or when you _punched Lucinda Talkalot_ and _broke_ her _nose_ , I just… I fucking, I dunno, I just… I _want_ , so much, to be by your side. And you’re telling me you want the same thing, and I don’t know what the fuck to do, because _fuck_ , and yeah, maybe I’m a little creepy sometimes, like when—”

            He’d started talking so fast that by the time Sage reacted to “I don’t know what to do” by kissing him again, he’d gone on further. But she cut him off, and in less than a second, they were snogging again, and her hand was in his hair, her nails brushing against his scalp in a way which almost made him shiver (it would’ve, if he hadn’t been so _passionate_ in the moment. He had things to do, a girl to snog – he did not have time to melt because she was doing exactly what turned him into liquid!). And he wanted to kiss her more, go deeper – so, he wrapped his arms around her middle, one on her upper back to keep her steady and the other ready to support her, and took her away from the wall in a dip kiss. She had not been expecting this, not at _all_ , and squealed as he did it, her eyes shooting open. But as he kept kissing her, she decided there was nothing wrong with a little classic romance, and accepted the dip with grace.

            They pulled away after some time passed, and he sat her upright, allowing her to compose herself as they disconnected from each other’s arms. They cleared their throats and stood tall as they nodded at each other, lips red.

            “So, you want to be with me,” said James, grinning ear-to-ear.

            “Indeed. And you, with me.” James nodded at Sage’s words, hand coming to his face, stroking his chin as he ‘considered.’ Sage giggled, leaning against the stone wall.

            “Yes. So, we must discuss – if you want to be with me and I with you, well, we’ve just got to be together, haven’t we?”

            “I suppose we do – we’ve no other option.”

            “Certainly. So, with this, I must ask for you, Sage Charles, to become my life partner, significant other, better half – my _girlfriend_.” James held out his hand to her in true business-deal fashion, ready for her to shake. She bit her lip to keep from laughter.

            “And this means you, James Potter, are my companion, my lover, my… _boyfriend_.” Taking his hand, Sage looked at James with a grin. He nodded.

            “Mhm, yes, quite.” At this, Sage couldn’t help her laughs – she snorted and doubled over, coming back up only to tell him one thing.

            “You sound like Dumbledore,” she said through laughs. James grinned, letting out a giggle. Sage recovered, a few seconds later, and stood tall again. Once more, James held out his hand for her to shake, whining so she would take it again and actually shake it.

            “Come on, we have to make it official,” he said, whining until she rolled her eyes, took his hand, and gave it a big, aggressive shake. Once she did this, he let go of her hand, kissed her again, and pulled away to tell her blatantly, “I knew you’d want to be with me someday.”

            “Oh, did you?” Raising her eyebrows, Sage teased him. He nodded, looking at her out of the corner of his eye (he was looking dramatically into the distance as he shared this ‘fact’).

            “But, of course. I mean, it’s obvious - I’m charming and irresponsible. Er-- irresistible. Fuck.”

            This was one of the funniest slip-ups Sage had ever seen just because of the sheer confidence with which it was said. She laughed, patting his cheek as she said, “nice Freudian slip.”

            “It was _not_ a Freudian slip, thank you,” said James, pouting. Sage laughed again, grabbed his hand, and held it close to her, intertwining their fingers.

            “Whatever you say.” She looked into his eyes sweetly for a few seconds before panicked, remembering what had started all this – she was on her way to the library in attempts to figure out the Transfiguration thing… she still hardly got it! Oh, fuck, she was totally going to get a T on her Transfiguration exam later (and she could not even _imagine_ telling her brother – or her boyfriend, who was stellar at the subject – she’d done so bad she got ‘ _Troll_ ’).

            “Shit,” she murmured, grabbing onto her bag strap.

            “What? What’s wrong?”

            “Fucking—I’m still terrible at Transfiguration and have no idea how the fuck to conjure things, so that’s nice— _fuck_.” Frustrated, Sage pursed her lips and crossed her arms, letting go of his hand.

            “Sage, it’s alright – I said I’d help you, didn’t I? I’ll help you conjure stuff for a little bit, then we can… I dunno, do… other stuff.” James didn’t miss how she licked her lips, but if he was going to teach her something, he’d have to ignore it.

            “You’re a lifesaver, James—now, how the fuck do I make a bird come out of my wand?”

            By the time they got up and left the little hidey-hole at the end of an abandoned corridor, they’d given the place a few new residents. Along with the tiny blue birds which chattered as they flew from window to window, there were new memories living there, and they weren’t to die anytime soon.


	20. Twenty

            “Alright, we’ve all got to be quiet,” said James Potter as he snuck out the Gryffindor portrait hole to the five people following him. They nodded, and the last of the group – Peter Pettigrew – was the last into the corridor outside Gryffindor Tower, the one to push the Fat Lady’s painting closed slowly, letting it fall shut with a soft _‘click.’_ The Fat Lady did not notice or call out to the students who were certainly out later than allowed, as she was not home, but visiting a portrait of a friend two floors below. Two of the Six had never done this before – snuck out to the edge of the Forbidden Forest to start a bonfire – and were almost buzzing with the excitement of the impending adventure and the nervousness over the possibility of being caught (though, they _were_ with both the Head Boy _and_ a Prefect…).

            James used the Marauder’s Map to guide them all, something he only just revealed to his now-girlfriend when she expressed concern over possibly running into a teacher (“what if we get caught?!” “We won’t, Sage, I promise – we won’t run into anyone at all.” “You can’t possibly _know_ that, James!”). She found the map absolutely incredible (“a feat of modern magic,” she called it) and had a hard time giving it back to James when he showed it to her. Leading them down corridors and through passageways, he brought them all through a maze, his wand lighting their way.

            It didn’t take long for them to reach a door to outside, and when they did, James held it open for all of them. The last to exit the castle, James closed the door slowly, looking into the dark corridor they just left to ensure they were not being followed or watched (he knew there would not be anyone there, as the closest person to them was the Fat Friar, and he was still pretty far away – about three floors up and far over, but he still checked, just to feel safe), before he closed it. As soon as it shut, he turned around, facing the group. He lowered his wand, deactivated the map, shoved it into his back pocket, and started walking with them, taking Sage’s hand. She moved in close to him, letting their shoulders press against each other as they walked, and gave him a goofy grin, barely visible with the dimmed light from his wand and the faint glow of the crescent moon. He still saw it, though, and it affected him all the same as one he saw in full light, making him smile right back at her and lean over to peck her on her lips, their smiles meeting sweetly.

            “Alright,” Sage said, voice soft in the quiet night, “where are we heading?”

            “There’s a spot over in the direction of the Owlery we like. It’s not visible from the castle and not too creepy.” Sirius pointed in the direction of the tower, finger falling just the slightest to the left.

            Sage nodded, and a squeeze to James’ hand was the only warning given to her sudden increase in speed – she walked faster, pulling James along for a moment before he snapped to attention and caught up with her. The pair led the group, behind them Wendy, then Peter, then Sirius and Remus, who walked with hands intertwined (but only just - not like James and Sage who grasped onto each other, their fingers kept brushing against each other until one of them finally let them loop together, soft and discreet).

            It didn’t take long for people to discover Sage and James were official (running into the Gryffindor common room and shouting it at all everyone there the second he got back was something James did to aid this process), as it became something people whispered to each other (“did you hear about James Potter and that Hufflepuff?”) over meals and in corridors between classes. And sometimes, it was not shared by word of mouth – people tended to assume something was going on, as the relationship was at a point where both parties found it difficult to keep their hands off each other (this meant for some awkward conversations on both ends. With Sage, it meant her friends asking sometimes too-intrusive of questions – such as, “are you having sex with James?” which she had not been prepared for, and the only thing she could manage to say in response was “I mean, in a way, aren’t we _all_ having sex with James?”).

            And as awkward as the relationship was (what relationship _isn’t_ awkward, though?) at times, Sage and James were having a lovely time, and as they hung out increasingly, they kept finding new things about each other, almost all of which was received positively. They found out new things, and they were trying new things – hence, Sage going along with the boys to a bonfire (Wendy had wanted to come with her girlfriend, Diana, but unfortunately, the girl was sick. Still, Wendy tagged along, anyway).

            Soon enough, Sage and James reached the spot Sirius had been talking about. There was a fire pit (really just a circle of rocks) with two logs to sit on next to it, with enough room for the four boys. James quickly conjured two more logs to be sure there was enough for the whole group so a square of logs surrounded the circle of rocks.

            As James muttered a spell to shoot a fire in the middle of the rocks, Sage looked up. Above them, branches and leaves of the trees around them barely covered a black-blue sky sprinkled with stars, a beautiful world of greens and browns, of blue and purple interrupted by light, white and yellow. When the fire started, it lit up the trees more, allowing the greens and the browns to live more, giving them a real presence. Embers began to crack, sending tiny flakes of fire shooting above the flames, stars dancing up in the wafts of heat, trying desperately to join those of their kind in the sky, only to fade and vanish before they reached tree branches. Still, more tried, and there were hints of flames, glowing specks, floating in the chill of the night's air.

            Sage let a heavy breath fall from her mouth. For a moment, she felt she could see it in the air. It was nearing October's end, after all, and it was a chilly night. But if she could see her breath, it was only barely. Either way, she was chilled – so she rubbed her hands together once before holding them in front of the fire, letting the heat warm her. A tug on her shirt from James made her turn around and face him, then sit onto a log next to him as he gestured for her to do so.

            He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her cheek and making her giggle – she was really, really, _really_ happy they were finally together. She was so concerned before, so worried about ‘ _what if_ ’s, and she almost convinced herself to vow to never date him (mainly because of the ‘ _what if we break up, and its ugly, and we aren’t friends anymore? I don’t want to never talk to him or the lads again._ ’). But as she lay in bed at night, staring out into the dark of her dorm room and listening to someone snore as she thought about James for the umpteenth time, her mind decided _fuck it_. So all she needed was the bravery to _tell_ him, and she was _so_ glad she got it.

            Sitting there with James next to her, warmth coming over her from both him and the fire, she was happy. As much as she hated to say it (she was too much of her own person to let her happiness reside on someone else, let alone a man!), it was true – she was happy anyway, and she had a nice life, but James brought something more. He did not ‘complete’ her, and he was not her ‘other half,’ because she did not need another half – she did not need to be ‘completed.’ She was whole, but James was like… an expansion. It was like the sun, on its own something beautiful and complete, had found a moon.

            And when she breathed in, she couldn’t tell if the strong scent of a bonfire was from the fire in front of her or the boy next to her. It was sweet, as always, and woody, a hint of something earthy, like maple syrup poured over a forester (strange imagery, isn’t it?) and onto a freshly-chopped log. Something weird but familiar, homey. Butch (as in ‘ _manly_ ,’ not the lesbian identity).

            The rest of the group sat on the other logs, all paying attention to the heat of the fire. Wendy sat alone, mourning the absence of her girlfriend, Peter on the log across from hers, a stick in his hands he poked various things with – a bush, the ground, the fire… And on the final log, Remus and Sirius sat together, no longer holding each other’s hands but keeping them near the other (fingers brushed against fingers and a head longed to lay on a shoulder but did not move).

            “Hey, Sage,” said Sirius, making the Hufflepuff look up at him questioningly. He pointed to the plant growing next to him, fingers nearing its leaves. “You know Herbology and stuff. What’s this bush?”

            Sage squinted – with the light of the fire, she could just barely make out its leaves… She was too far away to tell anything specific, but there was something she knew off the bat, something Sirius, who was about to touch it, should know - “Poisonous.”

            “Oh-kay…” Sirius nodded, pulling his hand back, and with pursed lips, he turned away, keeping an eye on the plant out of the corner of his eye as if it would get up and move over to him.

            Wendy snorted, then posed a good question while warming her hands by the fire. “So, what do you guys do during these things?”

            “Usually, either get drunk or high.” Remus shrugged.

            “So…” Wendy looked around at each of them expectantly. She stopped on Sirius when he reached into his jacket and procured a bottle of firewhiskey which certainly had not been there before (none of them were going to question its existence – they were perfectly fine with this). They all cheered, watching as he made a show of opening it up (complete with dramatic eyebrow moves) and clapping when he moved it to his lips and took a big swig. After this, Sage’s hand reached into her pocket, pulling out something she had grown herself the group greeted excitedly.

            Some time passed, and they all greatly enjoyed each other’s company and the chill of the night combated by the warmth of the fire in front of them. The air around them had a buzz of positive energy, keeping the smiles on their faces until they decided to head back to the castle, all exhausted.

            James put out the fire and walked with his hand in Sage’s. The two of them were really craving some alone time after all the wandering hands were felt around the fire, but the only place they could think to go was James’ bed, using multiple charms on the curtains surrounding the four-poster to insure their privacy.

            So the group all headed back to Gryffindor tower, with Wendy splitting apart from them to head up the girl’s staircase and crawl into bed with Diana (she realized she would probably end up sick afterwards, but could not bring herself to care. All she wanted was to curl up next to her girlfriend and sleep).

            Taking off their shoes, James and Sage sat on his bed, closing the (now enchanted) curtain and turning to face each other. Almost instantly, Sage’s hands were up his shirt, feeling his stomach, fingers tracing over occasional scars, making his skin shiver under the touch of her cold hands. James pulled her face onto his, moving their mouths together.

            Sage pulled his shirt over his head, disconnecting their lips for a second before colliding them again as she put it at the foot of the bed behind him. One of her hands stayed on his chest, feeling the skin and muscles he owed to Quidditch, the other travelling up to his hair, where she entangled her fingers in the messy black mane. She gave a gentle tug, making him let out a groan.

            Imbued with a new energy, James led Sage to lay back, ready to fucking devour her.


	21. Twenty-One

            “Oh – hey, Cecil.” Sage stopped, surprised to see the Ravenclaw boy sitting on a bench in the corridor she walked down – there was no reason for him to be there, as he had many other places to sit, most of those closer to Ravenclaw Tower. With Cecil looked up from his comic (he _had_ been working on school stuff, but… he got bored) and smiled at her.

            “Hey, Sage. You goin’ somewhere?” The boy asked, closing the comic book, holding his place with his finger.

            “Eh, not really. I just returned a library book, now I’m just… heading in the direction of my bed but not totally set on going there, you know?” Sage shrugged, looking over him – he had his satchel on the bench next to him, open, so Sage could barely see inside. There was a schoolbook, but most of the contents were thin and papery, colourful – comics.

            Cecil nodded, “you want company or something?”

            “Nah, I’ll be fine.” Waving him off, Sage glanced at the book in his hands – he’d spoken about it before… she could remember some bits and pieces, but if she were honest, most of what he said when he was infodumping about comics went over her head (it was all too Muggle for her to understand, usually). “You get back to X-Men.”

            “If you say so,” Cecil shrugged, gave her a fake-reluctant look, and opened his comic before he began to read again.

            “Catch you on the flip side,” Sage waved, still confused as to why he was there of all places (was it because it was quiet? He didn’t have to come this far to find a quiet place, though…), as she started to walk down the corridor once more.

            “Bye!” Cecil shouted after her without looking away from the book in his hands.

            With a roll of her eyes and a smile, Sage turned a corner. No longer in the corridor with Cecil, she went back to thinking about nothing and everything. She loved to do this – walk and let herself relax. The sound of her footsteps, faint against the stone floor of the castle, lulled her, as did the aura of the corridors. And because she figured out the castle’s layout (for the most part – there were still many places she’d never been before) years ago, she did not have to think about where she was going. She just went.

            This time, though, she did not get very far before she was stopped again. She was stepping softly, listening to the natural ambiance of the castle, when she heard something different from the usual creaks of wood and the strange, whispery, rolling… _something_ (in all her years, Sage still could not describe it. There was a sound only those who had been inside of a castle know – the sound the old stone makes. Is it wind? It sounds like something is rolling. Something big. Is it getting closer? Perhaps, but it never nears. The whispers are not human. There is a part of it like the wind is passing by ears and letting itself be known with a gentle caress. There is a sound castles make that cannot be described and cannot be explained). There was a sniff – the sound of the first one immediately made Sage think someone around the corner had a cold. But just after the first, another, and more. This was not someone mildly sick – this was the sniffles of someone crying.

            So she froze, trying to pinpoint the source. In front of her, the corridor split in two – she could go right or left. Instead of trying to decide, she walked to the end of the corridor she walked in, the tip of the ‘T,’ and looked both ways. To the left, nothing, but to the right, where the sniffles (and something else… a whisper? It was much too solid to be part of the natural castle sounds) came from…

            There were people. Two people, actually – Sage got a glimpse of them before she backed out of their view, but neither had noticed her in the first place. One of them, taller, with greasy black hair, had their back to her as they hunched over the other, smaller, with brown hair pulled into a short ponytail. Sage, not wishing to intrude on what may be a private moment, hid around the corner. Out of respect, she did not wish to pop out and possibly embarrass whoever was crying, but she was not content with just leaving before she found out if this truly was what she thought – a moment of comfort.

            She caught a glimpse of their robe colours, too – the taller was a Slytherin and the younger a Ravenclaw. Swallowing, she let her mind connect these two people to rough ages. One, hers, the other, perhaps a third year. Whatever was happening, too, was not what should be – the older person was not comforting the younger (who was obviously the source of the sniffles, as Sage noticed their hands on their face) – the whispers were not friendly or kind. She knew this as she could hear them, now, with her back against the right wall, her hand and ear both centimetres from the corner. The whispers were more like the sharp hissing of a snake than soft words of comfort. She listened close, and her frown deepened.

            “Shut up – I haven’t done anything to you.” The voice was cold and deep, masculine and mean. Hearing it made Sage tense up and abandon her hiding place in a heartbeat, as she knew at once she was wrong to not do anything. Stepping into the corridor, she readied herself, looking them over as she did so. “You’re pathetic. Why are you—”

            “Hey!” Sage realized after she spoke that this probably was not the best idea, but it was too late to turn back – she took a step closer as the two people turned around at her intrusion.

            The shorter one was certainly crying, with splotchy red cheeks wet with tears. They were a second-year, Sage figured, and a Ravenclaw. Their hands were shaking as they took a step away from the Slytherin. Sage was right about their age – they were in their final year like her. She knew their identity at once and instantly mentally checked her wand was where she thought it was, where she could grab it easily.

            Always the talent in the Dark Arts, Severus Snape seemed to have gotten even darker over the summer. Sage never liked him, thanks to the incident in fifth-year where he called one of his only friends two slurs, and for his particularly mean outward persona. He hung around fellow Pure-Blood Supremacists, and he always had a dark shadow following him, like he wore a black veil. Sage did not know what he was doing, here, being needlessly cruel to a twelve-year-old, but she was not going to let it stand. Even though she knew of his spectacular abilities in all things dangerous (and her apparent lack of skill), she at least had to give the Ravenclaw time to escape. This could go on no longer.

            “What’s going on here?” she asked, a second later. The second-year looked between her and Snape, weary and glossy-eyed.

            “None of your business, Charles,” hissed Snape. There was something radiating from him, an emotion – anger? Annoyance? It certainly seemed the latter as he ran a hand through his greasy, long, black hair and glanced at the Ravenclaw beside him. “Shut _up_.”

            The Ravenclaw was still sniffing, breathing harshly, as Sage took another step forward. “Don’t talk to them like that.” Moving to address the kid, she asked, “is he bothering you?”

            This was very clearly a useless question, but she still asked. She did not quite know what to do when it came to things like this, but somehow, Snape seemed to.

            “N-no,” they said, voice shaking. As they glanced between the two seventh-years, Sage gestured for them to join her, hoping it would work and they would listen. They did, and instantly slid away from Snape to hide behind Sage.

            As they moved, Snape scowled. A scoff came from him, deep and mean. “I suppose this will make you think yourself a _hero_ , won’t it? You think you’ve _saved the day_. Huh. You and Potter are a good match.”

            Keeping her voice monotone, Sage responded dryly, “thanks.” She turned to the Ravenclaw, suddenly aware this was not going to end anytime soon. “Why don’t you head on up to Ravenclaw Tower?”

            Sage wanted to tell them something else – _“get help,”_ but multiple things stopped her. Her reluctance to ask more of an already upset child, her anxiety of what might happen if she brought in a teacher, the knowledge that it would take too long and by the time anyone got there, everything would be over… but most of all, it was her fear of Snape. She was scared of him.

            The second-year nodded, and before Sage had time to change her mind, they were gone, back the direction Sage had come from.

            Swallowing her fear and standing tall, Sage turned back to Snape. Her posture was straighter than it had been in years and her head stay held high despite her mind telling her to run. Snape scowled at her, but she still told him, “I am not a hero.”

            Snape’s eyebrows rose for a moment as he looked at her, curious. “Huh,” he said, still frowning. “I guess you are different from Potter. He’d take any chance to stroke his beloved ego.”

            This was something that should not cause waves of fury to overtake someone. But Sage, with her protective nature and poorly-controlled (at times. She was getting better!) anger, seemed to morph all her feeling over witnessing the harassment of a twelve-year-old into a fire she needed to control but was unable to.

            “ _Merlin_ ,” she said, obviously annoyed. Her expression blatantly told Severus she thought him a fool. “ _Why_ do you _hate_ him so much?”

            “Your _boyfriend_ ,” said Snape, saying the word as if he hated the way it tasted on his tongue, “has harassed me from the first moment we met. He torments me!”

            “He doesn’t _speak_ to you! Sure, you’ve had a shitty relationship in the past, but _Merlin_ , it’s been years! Nothing he did to you warrants you _obsessing_ over him like this!” Sage knew she needed to shut up, but was unable – she wanted to say more, but stopped herself, and it seemed like all her self-control was spent on basic regulation. Severus was getting angry, she could see. His eyes were darker, his scowl turning into a snarl. She did not know what she was talking about, but she was too mad to care.

            “You know nothing of our past.” Snape almost growled as his enragement turned him on her. He looked at her – an idiot, in his eyes. “You follow him blindly. Why do you trust him so? You do not know his true nature – you do not know what he is, what he has done. How would you? Why would he tell you? Do you think he would sit down and tell you everything he has done to me? He is not the knight he wants you to think he is – he would not tell you what he has done. Why would he? You’re a fool to think he has told you the complete truth, and you’re a fool to think he would. James Potter is pathetic. He is not the man you think he is, but he will do anything to keep up his image. I know his true self more than you do.”

            Sage’s mind was reeling, but she spoke again. “And what is his true self? A bully? People change. He was wrong to be so cruel, years ago, but he is noble, and he is not evil.”

            “So, you think he would not be needlessly malicious? That he would not do something to gravely harm anyone, especially anything where someone could get killed?” This conversation had quickly turned from a debate into something else – Snape had something, something he was holding above her, something he would reveal to humiliate her. He was trying to turn her against James, and with the level of certainty he was speaking, it was clear he truly thought he would be able when he revealed his secret.

            “What kind of a question is that? Of course, he’d never do anything to harm anyone to the point of death.” Sage had a bad feeling. A really, really bad feeling. Was his hand twitching from anger, or was he just about to grab his wand? She fucked up. Did she still have time to stop this? To run?

            Snape scoffed – this was it, his time to introduce what he wanted, what he _needed_. This was his chance, and he was loving it. In these next moments, he would reveal something to this girl to change her mind. She would see the truth, even if he could not say parts of it outright. Hopefully, she was not _too_ much of an idiot.

            “You are correct, in a way,” he said, standing straighter. He was strangely calm, and this scared her. “James Potter is too much of a coward to go through with plans where someone could get killed.”

            “What do you—”

            “Potter and his gang of miscreants once set up a prank which would have killed me had he not gotten cold feet at the end and called it off.” Severus stood with a dark look in his eye, making him seem even colder.

            “What are you talking about?” Sage did not believe him, but something about him… he was being honest. Either he found a way to radiate honesty while uttering lies, or he actually thought this the truth.

 

            “Haven’t you noticed,” he spoke slow, as if he were schooling her, a lawyer presenting the biggest piece of evidence, “how they disappear once a month? Do you ever wonder where they go?”

            “I know.” Sage stood taller, prouder - she knew they went out into the forest to start a bonfire. Still, she wondered what Snape was insinuating. Was there a time when they’d kidnapped Snape and brought him to the bonfire? Was the reason Snape truly thought he could have died because they almost… no, they wouldn’t do that. They were mean to him, sure, but they would never think of burning him in any way.

            “ _Do you_? Because your response leads me to believe you do not.” Snape moved a step closer, making her take a step back. This was all happening so quickly. Sage was silent, her posture faltering. Looking her over, Snape scoffed. “I thought not. Perhaps they gave you an excuse, but you do not know the truth.”

            “I trust James,” said Sage, glaring at Snape. “I do not trust you.”

            “You don’t have to. I’m not telling you anything. But haven’t you ever been curious? Have you noticed how each time they go vanish, it is around the date of a full moon? How Lupin always just so _happens_ to get ill every month, and why he has so many scars? Ask yourself – think of the facts, and tell me if you _really_ know where they go.” He looked her over again as she realized. Her mind was travelling at the speed of light, and she was suddenly very aware the Marauders did not go to a bonfire every month. Her realization was not concealed, apparently, as Snape looked at her and sneered. “Oh, look at this – you _aren’t_ so much of an idiot.”

            “I am not, which is why I don’t trust you. You’re a disgusting and racist fanatic and if anyone here is truly an idiot, it’s you.”

            This was bad. Sage was thinking – she had a _lot_ to think about – but did not have the time to do so. Severus pulled out his wand and she needed to do something. She’d think later. For then, all she could do was pull out her wand, so she did so, with fumbling hands and a certain feeling of regret.

            “What do you think would happen if I ruined that face of yours?” Snape spoke words to intimidate her, angling his wand differently while keeping it pointed right at her. He stepped forward again, and had Sage not moved back, he would have been able to touch her with its tip. “Potter’d leave you before you could even get a word in. One look, he’d be done – show you his true self. The arrogant prat he really is.”

            “James Potter is ten times the man you could ever hope to be, Severus Snape.” Sage’s hands were sweaty. She was gripping onto her wand, praying she did not seem as nervous as she was, trying desperately to remember everything she knew about duelling, everything August had taught her ( _you’re the sister of a champion dueller_ , she told herself, _you can do this. Don’t take your eyes off of him. Watch his movements close…_ ).

            “James Potter,” mocked Severus, “is an insolent toerag. Anyone who says otherwise is either blind or a fool.”

            There was a look on his face of fury, a glint in his eye of pure hatred. It terrified Sage, but she could not move. All she could think about was James – one day where he’d forced her to eat broccoli because she said “ _I haven’t eaten a single vegetable in thirty years. Okay, it’s been like two weeks, but still—Yes, I know I’m seventeen!_ ” The other week when he’d sung her a sweet lullaby as she fell into his arms, exhausted, after a particularly gruelling study session in the Gryffindor Common Room. And just yesterday, when he’d genuinely teared up while holding the kitten of some random cat (she - the cat - just _brought_ it to him, and was totally calm as he picked it up and played with it).

            Her hand wasn’t shaking anymore. Severus was not only wrong, but he was _cruel_. Not only did he hate and slander James, he had been bullying a twelve-year-old minutes before. There was hatred in his eyes, but Sage ignored it, letting all of her anger, all of her emotion, ball together in her stomach. The white-hot orb of anger moved up from her core until it slid from her throat into her mouth. It turned into words, into bullets, that shot at Snape as she said them. His eyes held hatred, but her words _dripped_ with it.

            “Then I am a blind fool. At least I am not you,” she said, sending even more feeling his way with the daggers she shot from her eyes, voice cold and steady, “Severus Snape, who is worse than a fool. You are pathetic, even with sight.”

            Snape almost growled – this seemed to be his breaking point. He did not respond, but said a spell she’d never heard before while slicing his wand through the air.

            “Sectumsempra!” he shouted. A white light shot towards her, the spell correlating to a word she did not know. Sage snapped to attention, waving her wand quickly to block him. They were both surprised to see she had succeeded, but she recovered from her shock quicker than him and sent a spell back at him.

            “Expelliarmus!” She shot a bright scarlet light at him, praying this would go as well for her as her protection spell did. It did not – he deflected her with a scoff, stepping closer once more. She stepped back, holding her wand aimed at him. They were a step away from the corridor she’d come from – but she knew if she tried to run now, he’d just shoot something after her. And she wasn’t going to leave this fight without trying harder than this.

            “You cannot fight me, Sage Charles. You are not your brother.”

            Sage wished she could’ve said something clever – a “ _oh, you know him? Are you a fan? I could try to snag an autograph, if in return you stopped being such an arse_ ” – but found herself too busy trying not to listen to him. She knew of his skill – it was said that when he was in his first year, he knew spells not even those in their seventh knew of. They danced again – he stepped closer, her back – but this time twice, so they both stood in the intersection of the corridor she’d come from and where they were. Neither noticed this, and neither looked down it – they were too focused on each other.

            “I know I’m not my brother. I’m glad you finally understand this – but saying I ‘cannot fight’ you? Is that not what I’m doing right now?” Sage could only control her tongue too much – this time, it flew on its own. Her words upset him further, causing him to scowl at her.

            “Cr—”

            “Fumos!” Before he had the chance to finish his spell, Sage had a yellow light come from her wand before it began to sprout smoke that held in the air like a screen, giving her cover. She looked behind her, desperate for something – anything – to hide behind. A suit of armour? A door? There was nothing. She looked back at him, just as he cast a spell to blew air from the tip of his wand, chasing the smoke away.

            Snape was scowling at her, and raised his wand once more to slice into her. Before he could cast the spell, though, a shout came from the corridor Sage had entered from, and there was a blue light shooting toward him he hurried to deflect.

            “Stupefy!” shouted Cecil, rushing up to Sage’s side. Sage, both totally confused and eternally grateful of his presence, nodded to him and let him stand by her and fight. She needed the help, really, and was glad he had come to offer it.

            “I thought you might need help,” he said, taking a defensive stance. He seemed so much surer of himself than Sage, so much more professional, practiced. His wand was pointed at Severus, who looked at the pair of them with disgust. Cecil was fine with this – he was confident, and he knew his abilities. If he was honest, he was enjoying this – sure, he did not want it to be happening, but he was glad to fight, to practice. To learn.

            “Pathetic,” said Snape. He scrunched up his nose, lip curled. “Of course, you need help – but two against one isn’t fair, is it?”

            He said this in a way that made it seem as if he were taunting one of them to leave but knew it would not work. Cecil scoffed.

            “I mean, you can call it off if you want to, but neither of us are going anywhere, and I don’t think we’ll let you, either.” The Ravenclaw stood tall. In his hand, a long, dark-brown wand almost itched to cast another spell.

            “Things don’t have to change. I was just pointing out the unfairness of it all. Still, I can take both of you with my eyes closed.”

            “You’re awful confident for a guy whose only friends are Death Eaters and literal darkness.” Cecil was taunting him and knew it – this was getting Snape riled up, more and more, and he was about to explode.

            The spell he shouted was not aimed at Cecil, though – it was directed to Sage, who fumbled, rushing to block it. It was the same spell she blocked earlier, but this time it was weaker. She could’ve, and should’ve, blocked it. But she didn’t. By some kind of bad luck, she failed to stop the spell from hitting her.

            The flesh on Sage’s chest sliced open like she was slashed with a knife. It was deep, a cut which ran from her right shoulder, across her sternum, only to stop right before her left armpit. It didn’t bleed instantly, but a second after it hit her she brought up her hand to touch it and angled her head to see. Brows furrowed, Sage watched the fabric around the slice in her shirt begin to change colour. The stark white slowly infused with red, light at first but almost instantly dark as it spread, turning everything deep scarlet.

            She was painfully aware of how deep it was – for a moment she thought it might be deep enough to have scratched her bone – but had no time to think of it before she was slashed again. This time, it was shallower and across her stomach. One hand on her bloody sternum, her wand fell to the ground with a hollow clatter as her other hand moved to touch her stomach, where blood had only just begun to flow.

            Cecil had seen this happen, the direct consequence of his actions in his eyes, and watched her, eyes wide with horror, as her white shirt turned red. She looked at her body, down at where she watched blood flow, and glanced up at Cecil. She made eye contact – _terrible_ eye contact – both their eyes full of horror, and began to fall to her knees. Looking away from him, she hit the ground, breathing heavy as she sat, hunched over, terrified, feeling her fingers become slick with blood.

            He had to do something. Cecil knew he needed to heal her, to help her – she was losing a lot of blood, as it flowed down her shirt, staining the whole thing red. But he could not just start healing her – Severus was still there, standing with a sneer and not a single regret even though Cecil _knew_  she had the ability to die from her injuries. It was unlikely, and would not happen whatsoever with him there, but it was possible. In a different situation, those wounds could kill her.

            And this made Cecil incredibly angry. This duel was no longer a learning experience, a chance to refine his skills – no, this was a fight. He had white hot iron flowing through his veins, and he could not just stand there. With half his mind planning his attacks, he shot spells at Severus with no pause – the rapid-fire lights lit up the corridor, blocked one after another.

            Severus was almost blinded by the light. Cecil’s anger shot at him with no break, and he blocked each one, though it became hard. He was working up a sweat, and after a few seconds, he took a step back to brace himself as the force of the spells got stronger. Anger motivating him as much as it did Cecil, Snape almost growled when he was forced to take another step back.

            Cecil was skilled, there was no doubt. He knew what he was doing, and he knew he was going to tire himself out, but he did not care. Snape had no time to send more spells their way, and he prayed at some point, he would slip up and a spell would knock him out.

            It took a few more seconds, but as Severus tried to take yet another step back, he faltered – his cloak was a centimetre too long, and his foot just barely caught on it. It was not enough to trip him, but he still did falter, and in the spare millisecond it took for him to recover, he was hit and fell to the ground, unconscious.

            The second Severus was on the floor, Cecil turned away from him and looked at Sage again. Her breathing was ragged and her shirt almost devoid of white, and she was looking down at herself and seemingly trying to stop the blood with her bare hands, though she knew this would not work.

            Cecil wasted no time in kneeling next to her, keeping his wand in one hand as he placed the other on hers in attempted comfort. Sage looked up at him, and he wormed his fingers around the wrist of the hand atop her sternum.

            “Hey, I need to move this, alright? I can’t heal it if you don’t—alright.” The wound was deep. _Really_ deep. But Cecil showed no sign of reaction, murmuring a spell, holding his hand out over her chest and waving his wand over the cut slowly.

            The skin began to weave itself closed slowly, and the second Cecil had done all he could with the wound on her chest, he moved to her stomach. This was easier, and was sure to leave less of a scar than the one on her sternum. They were both healed, so Cecil moved away, sitting on the floor next to her with his eyes closed as he let out a deep breath.

            “Sorry,” he said, “but there’s probably going to be a scar. I mean, unless you use some dittany, like, right now.”

            Sage looked at him strangely. “…you just saved my _life_ any you’re apologizing to _me_?”

            “Yeah. I mean, it was kinda my fault, wasn’t it? I was taunting him so much, egging him on… I thought he would go after me, but I guess I was wrong. Sorry.”

            “ _Merlin_ , Cecil, shut _up_ \-- you didn’t hear me. He was furious at me, and he tried that same spell on me, before. It just… _hit_ this time.” Sage let out a breath, looked at her shirt soaked scarlet, and seemed to decide _fuck it_ , before she threw her arms around the boy.

            “Argh, Sage-- you’re compressing me more than my binder is,” Cecil joked, hugging her back. He was unbothered with the blood transferring from her to him – his hand was already bloody (though it did not bother him, it certainly bothered other people later when he walked into the Ravenclaw Tower with blood all down his front. You would’ve thought he murdered somebody. On the other hand, Sage got to the corridor outside the Hufflepuff Basement, and tried to concoct a plan to avoid suspicion to get into her room when she glanced at the kitchens. An idea came to her and she walked inside, asked the house elves for a clean shirt, and was able to sneak much more efficiently, as she was not weirdly red) – when she pulled away, she grabbed her wand and they both looked at Snape. Cecil spoke again. “He’s such a fucking prat.”

            As she nodded, Sage remembered the conversation they’d been having before the whole duel began and what Snape had ‘helped’ her figure out. It was so sad. Remus… he was always so kind.

            Many of the signs of his lycanthropy were things she ignored. The scars, for example, she would never ask about – she knew better than to pry. He was already so self-conscious of them, she could tell, and pointing them out would only make him feel worse. And, yes, she noticed how he got sick fairly often, but she figured he just had a shitty immune system. (And the ‘they disappear/Remus gets sick around the time of the full moon’ thing, she genuinely had not noticed. Who would? But thinking back, there was a theme with the moon (she remembered its phases thanks to Astronomy not letting her forget) being full and these things.)

            Sage decided quickly – still on the floor, staring at the lump that was unconscious Snape – she would tell nobody. Not Wendy, who she told everything (and would give a brief recap of the duel to, leaving out the ‘near-death’ part), not Cecil, to whom she owed her life, not James, though he certainly knew the truth, and not Remus. This was something she would keep to herself. She would hold this secret close to her, hugging it against her chest, so close it might as well have gotten stuck in one of her open cuts, and would remain there, in her chest, just under her skin, as the cuts healed and trapped it inside. She would not tell any living thing – she would not let the truth fall from her lips as long as she lived. Nobody would find out, and nobody would learn she knew.

            At least, that was the plan.


	22. Twenty-Two

            It happened while they were studying one afternoon. Remus, James, and Sage were sitting around a table in the Gryffindor common room reviewing their Potions work when Sirius came rushing down the stairs and ran up to Remus and James with a rat in his hands.

            “Prongs, Moony, you won’t believe wha-- oh, hey Sage.” Sirius stopped suddenly and he chuckled awkwardly upon noticing the girl. Sage looked at the creature in his hands curiously and cautiously. Her quill went motionless as she turned her attention from her essay to the animal.

            “...why do you have a rat?” She asked slowly. Sirius looked at the animal in his hands and then back at her, an anxious smile on his face.

            “I have a rat,” he said, “ _obviously_.”

            “I can see that,” nodded Sage, gesturing at the creature. “I asked why. Is he _your_ rat?”

            “He’s Marlene’s rat.” Sirius smirked, sure he would get away with the lie.

            “...McKinnon? She has a cat.” Sage stared at Sirius whose smile fell. “I’ve met him. His name is Christopher.”

            “Pads…” James spoke with a tone of warning. Sirius glared at him for a second before addressing Sage again.

            “No, another Marlene. You wouldn’t know her. In a younger year.” The Hufflepuff seemed to accept this answer, as she did not know everyone in the school. But she continued to question him.

            “Okay, so _why_ do you have Younger Marlene’s rat?”

            Sirius squinted at her, holding the animal closer to himself. “You ask an awful lot of questions.”

            Sage rolled her eyes, putting her quill down. “You aren’t really answering me.”

            “I have given exactly as many answers as you have asked questions,” Sirius said matter-of-factly. Sage gave him an exhausted look to which he sighed and shrugged, stating simply, “she just asked me to watch him.”

            Sage, not convinced, just squinted at him. “Okay,” she said slowly, making the decision to just give up on it all – she knew Sirius would not do anything _bad_ to the animal.

            “Alright, now that’s sorted, I wanted to tell you two about… a prank I came up with.” Sirius then went on a tangent about his idea to turn the whole Great Hall pink. Sage could remember them doing this before (multiple times, with multiple different colours) and did not pay attention to the repetitive idea.

            Until James laughed, and she snapped back to them (who could blame her? He had such a lovely laugh) just before he added, “Padfoot, you dog.”

            Now, it did not occur to her immediately. In fact, she really didn’t think anything of the joke for a minute and went back to her Transfiguration essay. She focused on the paper for a minute, thinking about how to phrase “and then it changes. Poof. Magic,” into something she could make last way longer and sound much more sophisticated, and her brain figured it out for her - not her homework, as she wanted it to - no, it figured out a riddle she wasn’t thinking of (and didn’t even realize was a riddle).

            Scribbling down another word, she froze. It was like her mind tapped her on the shoulder, and when she turned to look at it, it whispered its findings into her ear. She didn’t think about it, and she didn’t _want_ to know. And if she was honest, she didn’t believe herself.

            But still, the evidence was astounding and building up more and more now as she thought about it. She was having a bit of a shock, and said a phrase she picked up from Wendy – “ _oh my god_.”

            James immediately turned from Sirius to her. He placed his hand on her wrist, looking at her worriedly, and asked, “are you alright?”

            Sage took a second to answer, and when she did, she almost cringed at how false she sounded – her voice was squeaky, and her face showed she very obviously _not_ alright, but she still tried. “Yeah, I’m okay!”

            “…no, you’re not,” said James, angling his body toward her further. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

            “No, no, nothing’s happened, I just…” Sage’s eyes trailed from her worried boyfriend to Sirius, who still held a rat in his hands. A rat. And who, out of the gang, were they missing? Peter – who they called _Wormtail_. Of _course_. Sage’s mind was solidifying her theory further, causing her body to let out a breathless laugh. “Oh my _god_.”

            “Sage, really—”

            “Oh my _god_ ,” she said, again, moving to hold her head in her hands. “Oh my— _fuck_.”

            “What’s—” The other boys, concerned as they were, began to worry as well, and so joined James in asking her if she was okay. Remus, always paranoid people had found him out, started to think maybe – just _maybe_ – she’d solved it. But, as he assured himself, it was highly unlikely.

            _So, Peter’s a rat –_ that _rat – so ‘Wormtail,’ and Remus is a werewolf, so… ‘Moony’ makes sense… and Sirius… well, he’s ‘Padfoot,’ and James called him a ‘dog,’ so… Sirius is a dog. But… what’s James? He’s ‘Prongs,’ but what kind of an animal is that?_ She questioned, head in her hands, eyes staring at her essay unfocused.

            For some reason, her mind then took the idea of ‘Sirius is a dog’ and ran – from just ‘dog’ to ‘ _when was the last time I saw a dog?_ ’ to ‘ _holy shit was that shaggy black dog_ him _?_ ’ which caused her to look up at Sirius and say another, “oh my _god._ ”

            Then, remembering the shaggy dog, she recalled the last time she saw the creature. When she and Wendy were exploring, and he was with a deer…

            So, _then_ she was thinking about the deer, and _what if that was James_? And she remembered its beautiful antlers – those _prongs_.

            “Oh my _GOD_.”

            But she still was not sure – until she remembered one of the jokes Wendy had made. It was something like “oh, Mister Deer, are you writing something?” But what made Wendy ask this? Was it—there was a parchment next to the deer. Something, if she thought really hard, Sage could remember looking much like the Marauder’s Map…

            “What the _fuck_ ,” she said, and the boys continued to ask her if she was okay. She looked between Sirius and James, vaguely aware that she needed to come up with an excuse for her behaviour, but she was still much too focused on thinking about them all being secretly animagi.

            Her mind told her again, _think of the shaggy dog_. And she recalled – a year ago, when she was on her date with Amos…

            “ _Were you following me?_ ” Only aware that she spoke aloud after the fact, Sage snapped out of her mind and back to reality – all three (four?) of the boys were looking at her strangely. They were not as worried, as she had asked them a question, but still very, very confused.

            “…What are you talking about, Sage?” asked James, genuinely confused, though in the back of his mind, he thought of the few – _FEW_ – times where he had followed her around (it wasn’t creepy! He was… well, he was… alright, it was a _little_ creepy. In his defence, he was younger then. A year was a long time ago!) but he knew there was no way she knew about that, unless she knew about his cloak and all their other secrets.

            “I’m…” Sage gulped. This was shitty, and she really had no idea what the hell to say with these boys looking at her expectantly. She couldn’t tell them the _truth_ , and even if she was going to, she couldn’t quite do so in the middle of the common room. “Well, er—"

            She looked behind her, pulling her hands off the table and thus her wrist from James to cup them together on her lap. She could run, couldn’t she? If she did not really care about leaving stuff here – if she grabbed her bag, James could grab its strap, and she would be fucked… There was a somewhat-clear path from her spot to the portrait hole… but James had longer legs than she did, and even if she tried to lose him, he would know where she was going – Hufflepuff Basement – and he had that Map, so she couldn’t really _hide_ …

            “It’s, er, it’s just…” looking back at the boys, she tried to seem like she hadn’t just tried and failed to plan her escape.

            OH! If she wanted, she could just run up the girls’ stairs! The Gryffindors had it so the stairs would turn into a slide if boys tried to go up them! But what if they just sat at the bottom and waited for her? She would have to come down sometime… Fuck.

            “I don’t…” Gulping, Sage tried to smile, “I can’t really think of a good explanation, right now, and I… er, I don’t really…”

            “What’s going on?” asked James. He looked at her, fully focused on her, with his hand slowly pulling away. It was clenched, and had been since she took away her arm from him, but in anger. He wasn’t mad, she could tell. All his eyes held was worry and confusion, and she could hardly look away after contacting them.

            “If you can’t think of a good lie, you could always just tell _the truth_ ,” said Sirius, still holding Peter’s rat-self. Sage did not look away from James and he did not look away from her, but she nodded.

            “I could, sure. But, er—” she broke eye contact to look around the room and back at Sirius. “If I were to do that, you wouldn’t want it to be in here.”

            They didn’t miss the ‘you wouldn’t want’ – it suggested to them that she _knew something_.

            Sage was vaguely aware of how fucked she was. Her mind was reeling – she still didn’t want them to know she knew, and there was the whole issue of her mind asking _what if you’re wrong?_ But she had the thought, _hey, if you tell them, you can get your many, many questions answered, and you won’t be as confused!_

            “If you want privacy, we can go up to our dorm,” said Remus just after he and Sirius made eye contact. This was getting more and more dangerous.

            “…I mean, can’t we just forget about this?” asked Sage, gulping and chuckling awkwardly. Now that she thought about it, really, it was all so ridiculous. What a theory she’d just come up with! She could never say she wasn’t creative, but she was certain she was wrong. Yes, she was aware of Remus being a werewolf, but this other stuff? Merlin, she was absolutely ridiculous. “Like, just… go on with doing homework and shit?”

            A glance at the boys told her the answer.

            “No? Not happening? Alright. Cool.” With her lips pursed, Sage scratched the back of her neck. “I mean, even if I was going to tell you, I don’t really know what I’d _say_. I think my brain just came up with a wild idea way beyond my creative capabilities and I briefly went insane. Nothing to say, really.”

            “You’ll come up with something.”

            James looked away from Sage and at Sirius, about to reprimand him for being so cold, when he caught the other boys’ eyes. The look the three of them shared was enough to make him lean back in his chair and swallow, taking a deep breath as he went from worried for Sage to worried over her.

            He was not a cruel person. He was not mean, and he was not needlessly harmful. He was not cold. But he had priorities. And he hated to say it, _really_ hated to say it, but even if he cared for Sage a _lot_ , she did not come above his friends. Sure, she was his friend, too, and even if he hadn’t told her yet, he was pretty sure he was in love with her, but she wasn’t a Marauder. These were his brothers. And if the look they shared told him anything, he had a reason to show his priorities. If she knew about Remus… well, he wouldn’t be taking her side when they questioned her, for sure. Remus’ issue came above her. Maybe that would change one day, but for then, it was the truth. (Though, this was not to say she didn’t matter to him – _fuck_ , she did – but there were just things that meant _more_. He couldn’t say she was ‘just this girl he dated at school’ because she wasn’t. She was more. If this all meant he had to say goodbye to her, it would hurt like _hell_ , and he would most definitely hide in his bed for a week and cry for three, but he would do it. If he had to, he would let her go.)

            “Alright.”

 

            And so they went, packing up all their things rather awkwardly, before they walked upstairs. Sirius and Remus led, Sage behind them with James trailing her. He touched her back gently as they walked, a sign of comfort that made her smile at him weakly before she turned away.

            She sat on a bed – Remus’ – with her hands in her lap and her bag laid beside her as Remus and Sirius stood in front of her, ready to interrogate but without any hostility. They were keeping up the ‘this is a comfort’ façade, but Sage could tell it was not – they were prepared for her to tell them something bad, as much as they really wanted her to tell them something stupid.

            James sat beside her, still worried but aware of what might happen. He kept a hand on her lower back, something she was thankful for. She was panicking - what was she supposed to say? Tell them about some wild, totally absurd theory she came up with? Or would she have to admit she knew about Remus? Their secrecy and serious nature made her feel like she _possibly_ could be right, but she told herself ‘ _they probably just think you know about Remus. The other stuff isn’t even possible!_ ’

            “So, Sage, what’s on your mind?” asked Sirius. “What’s troubling you? Has taking care of plants gotten too stressful?”

            Sage smiled briefly and she let out an exhale that gave her another second to think before she answered honestly. “I don’t know what to tell you – I don’t know _how_ to tell you. I just… I’m not malicious, in any way. I don’t want you to think I am, because I’m not. I’m really not. I wasn’t going to tell you I figured it out, but… I dunno, I don’t think you’ll let me leave without an excuse and right now I’m pretty unable to think of a good one. And it’s not like if someone else cornered me, I would tell them – I’d hex them, if I had to – I’m only telling you I know because it’s _you_.”

            “So… what do you know?” asked James, slowly removing his hand from her back, leaning away from her to watch her confession.

            “And I didn’t want you to know I know, but now that I’m thinking about it, you really should, because you deserve to be aware of who knows and… er… I dunno.”

            “Sage, we aren’t trying to pressure you—”

            “Like hell we aren’t, Remus – if she knows what we all think she does, she needs to say it so we can decide what to do about it.” Sirius looked at Remus, then at Sage, who was settling in her thoughts. “And if you know what we think you know…”

            “I get it. I shouldn’t know. I didn’t _want_ to know – believe me. I just… _found out_ , and then earlier, when you came down with a random rat in your hands and James called you a dog, I just… _figured out_ even more.”

            The boys took a collective breath before James spoke for them. “So what did you figure out? What do you know?”

            Sage took a second to think of how best to say it. She was still worried she was wrong, but as time went on and she watched the boys react to her, her ideas mostly solidified. This was not a wild guess, she realized. As much as she wanted to be wrong, she wasn’t.

            “I know… I _think_ I know what your nicknames mean.” She watched them all react to this differently – James stood, joining his friends, Sirius closed his eyes and took a breath, placing the rat on the bed behind him, and Remus sat there, hand over his mouth, almost like he was about to stroke his chin – and continued. “I mean, like, why they are what they are. The meaning behind them.”

            They were silent for a second before Sirius asked, “and what is it? The meaning behind them?”

            He glanced at his fellow Marauders, silently telling them to play this cool. If she was right, which he really hoped she wasn’t, they should do the right thing and pretend she wasn’t. They should act relieved, like she’d gotten close to figuring them out, but also shocked and amused at how ridiculous she sounded. Hopefully, they would not be too shocked to fail at this. It was a good plan - if a little gaslight-y - but it would work.

            “I’m not going to tell anyone, really – I know I said that already and it might seem like I’m stalling, but I’m not. I really… I just really want to make sure you know that. You have no reason to trust me, and you shouldn’t if we’re honest, but I… I won’t tell anyone.”

            “Yeah, yeah, we’re clear on that, but _what_ won’t you tell anyone?” Sirius took a step closer.

            “You’re animagi,” said Sage, clasping her hands together, looking at the ground. She let out a breath and continued - if she was wrong, then she was wrong, and they could go about their lives after laughing at her for her absurdity. As much as she didn’t want to be laughed at, she wished she would be after this - she wanted to be proved wrong. “Well, James, Sirius, and Peter – who’s that rat –” she looked up only to point at the rat atop Peter’s bed, quickly looking down again. “And I know Remus is a werewolf. And James and Sirius are a deer and a dog, respectively, and I—”

            Sage had another realization as she spoke, and as she was confessing, spoke her thoughts aloud. She looked up from the ground, but away from the boys, out the window. Her brow was furrowed, and she tried hard to not seem like she was avoiding their gazes. “Hold on, is the animagi thing to help him? Remus, I mean? It makes sense… Fuck, another thing I didn’t want to fucking know. Fuck.

            “Whatever. Anyway, I know the reason you all disappear once a month around the full moon is because of the lycanthropy thing, and that’s also why Remus gets so sick so often, and… I think there’s more, but I can’t think of anything else.” Sage still wasn’t looking at them, but had gone back to the – very interesting – hardwood floors.

            There was silence for a few seconds, but when someone did say something, it was Sirius, just after he made a sound, half-scoff, half-laugh.

            “Really?” he said, making Sage look up at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

            He was really a good actor. And James was, too, as he chimed in. “Yeah, Sage. Merlin, that was… _wow_. You really think we’re… it’s so _complex_ , too—”

            “How long have you known?” Remus, who had not looked up at Sage until now, spoke with a tone so sober it hit Sage like a punch. She turned away from James and Sirius and looked straight at Remus.

            “Not long. The Animagus thing was minutes ago-- and I’m honestly not sure about it. But you… about a week or two.”

            Remus nodded. He moved his hand off his face slow, let out a sharp breath from his nostrils, and looked at her. With a smile – a fake, sad, pathetic smile – he chuckled once, then asked one of the saddest questions Sage had ever heard. “Why are you still hanging out with me?”  

            “What…” Sage’s head tilted slightly as she looked him over. “Why _wouldn’t_ I hang out with you? We… we’re friends, right?”

            “Yeah, but… why do you still want to be?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I’m a monster, Sage, and you—”

            “Shut up.” Sage realized only after she’d spoken that she had done so much too harshly and a little meanly, but she could not let him go on speaking in such an utterly _pathetic_ tone. With them all looking at her with wide eyes, she could feel her face get red, and didn’t know if it was from the embarrassment, the anger, or both. “I’m sorry, but that’s—it’s not fucking true, Remus.”

            She was fully aware she was overstepping her bounds – she was the one ‘in trouble,’ not Remus. But _fuck_ , she just _couldn’t_ say nothing, and in the process, convinced herself she said too much.

            “You are one of the kindest people I have ever met in my entire goddamn life, and I’m a _Hufflepuff_ – I live with other _Hufflepuffs_ , and kindness is our _thing_. I don’t think you’ve ever done anything bad in your entire life, and _if_ you have, I bet whatever it was, it was pretty tame, and you felt _horrible_ about it, so… _no_. Nothing you could do would make you a monster, Remus, if not because in order to be a monster, you’d have to _like_ being terrible, and I think it’s pretty safe for me to assume you _hate_ anything _remotely_ bad.”

            “You don’t know the things I can do, Sage.” Remus spoke in a soft, harsh voice, and one look at him showed Sage how much he truly, completely hated himself. And this made her even madder.

            “ ** _Um_** ,” she said, “I know _you,_ Remus, and I _know_ you’re one of the best people to ever grace this planet with their presence—don’t look at me like that, I swear to Merlin—and there is nothing you can do and nothing you can _be_ could change that.” Sage spoke faster, sitting on the edge of the bed, her finger pointed right at him angrily.

            “I have _never_ met anyone who is so fucking modest about their considerateness—and I’m pretty sure that isn’t a word, but just… _whatever_.” Taking in a breath, she continued. “Anyway, I cannot _believe_ you _genuinely_ think you’re a monster. Have you _met_ yourself?! And if anything, the hatred you have towards yourself is proof that you are in _no way_ a monster because the idea of having the ability to cause harm and the idea of using it to do so disgusts you.

            “And I don’t know if I’m making any sense right now, because I’m mad at you, but I don’t care, because if you need someone to yell at you so you’ll stop hating yourself, I’ll fucking do it.”

            Another deep breath in, then, directed at nobody in particular, “goddamn it.” She then sat back, breathing deep for a few seconds as the boys stared at her, wide-eyed.

            “Fuck,” said Sirius. “So much for the ‘pretend she’s insane’ plan.”

            “I’m sorry.” Sage looked up, addressing Remus again, “I shouldn’t’ve yelled at you. I… this is your time to, I dunno, yell at _me_. But, just, don’t be so hard on yourself, mate – you’re a good person.”

            “Thanks, Sage.” He gave a sad smile and Sage knew he didn’t believe her. “But I don’t want to yell at you.”

            “…what’re you going to do, then?” she asked, watching close as they shared a look.

            “Well, do you swear you won’t tell anyone?” asked Sirius, stepping closer. Sage nodded aggressively.

            “No one. I’d die before telling anyone.” Glancing at Peter – still a rat – she sighed, “I mean, that doesn’t mean anything, does it? For all you know I could be lying. I’m not, but… I don’t know what to do to make you certain - I really won’t tell anyone.”

            “Hm.” Sirius began to pace slowly, making Sage feel as if she was on trial. She picked at her nails, glancing at James, who had joined Remus on Peter’s bed and was patting his back. “This is an issue. How do we know we can trust you?”

            Sage really had no idea, and her facial expression must’ve revealed as much, as Sirius took one look at her and continued.

            “You say you’ve known for roughly a week and a half. And you’ve told no one?”

            “Nobody.”

            Sirius hummed before he stopped and glanced at her. “Not even Wendy? You tell her everything, don’t you?”

            “I tell her everything, with, like, three exceptions. This is one of them. She doesn’t know, and she won’t find out. Not through me.” This was the truth – she had not told Wendy anything of her revelation. Her recap of the fight included “ _he was being an arse and talking shit about James, we started to fight a little, then Cecil showed up and helped, I got a little fucked up, and Cecil saved the day_.” Sighing, Sage figured she should add, “and the other two things are things I can’t tell you, so don’t ask.”

            Sirius hummed again, looking her over before he turned to the boys. “I dunno, what do you lot think? Peter-- fucking—change back.”

            Peter listened. Sage watched, awestruck, as the rat morphed from a tiny creature to a fully-formed Peter. She had never seen an Animagus in action, and this was a new, weird thing for her.

            “Why did you stay a rat for so long?” asked Sirius, starting a banter with Peter just as Sage caught James’ eye. He was unreadable, and looked away a second later. Sage tried to meet his gaze again but was unable.

            “The time wasn’t right – it’s a little distracting, don’t you think? _Plus_ , she wasn’t totally sure we were animagi and I didn’t know if we were going to tell her!” Peter defended himself and the banter continued, and Sage spoke again, not interrupting them but instead addressing Remus and James (though she really just wanted to speak to James).

            “So... how long have you all been animagi?” she asked, ignoring the bantering lads. James looked at her again, and the only emotion she could get out of him was ‘thoughtful.’

            “Since around fifth year,” he said, making Sage’s eyes widen.

            “You’ve been animagi since you were _fifteen_?” Slack jawed, she watched the corners of James’ mouth turn up slightly. She really had no idea what to say, so she groaned and fell backwards onto Remus’ bed and immediately began to press the palms of her hands into her eyes. _Fifteen_. In fifth year, she was hardly able to turn anything into anything, let alone do as complex of magic to turn a _person_ into an _animal_.

            Sage was distraught. There was no more bantering, though, which was nice, so she could just _be_ distraught. She was about to groan again, though, when something nudged her arm. Moving her hands so she could see, she looked next to her, where the culprit was none other than a familiar shaggy black dog. The same shaggy dog she’d seen twice before. Sirius.

            “Oh my fucking god.” Sage blinked, pursing her lips, looking him over. He lay down beside her, tail wagging, as she closed her eyes again. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

            She lay there for a few seconds, still aware of the dog next to her, with her eyes closed, until something else nudged her leg. Sighing dramatically, she used her elbows to prop herself up as she looked at the stag in front of her. A stag she’d seen before. Her fucking boyfriend.

            She looked James right in the eye for a few seconds before she fell back on the bed, ignoring the stag as it began to nuzzle her leg, letting out a breathy laugh as she said, “what the _fuuuuuccccck_.”

            Beside her, Sirius nudged her with his nose again, making her open her eyes and turn her head to him. Utterly sarcastic, she avoided looking at her boyfriend’s antlers and addressed Sirius. “Hello, Dog Sirius.”

            He barked.

            All she could think to do was nod. “Uh-huh,” she said. She sighed before she sat up and looked at Remus, even though Deer James was trying to get her to pay attention to him. “Is there anything else I should know? Is there secretly a 5th Marauder? Are you all really dead and I’m just talking to ghosts? Am _I_ the dead one?”

            “No, this is about it.”

            “Great.” She was about to fall back down again when James tried, once again, to get her attention by moving into her field of view and bumping his nose into her shoulder. “Yeah, hi, James, I see you, thanks.”

            And just as she put her hand on the side of his face to move it away from her ( _fuck_ , this was weird), the stag morphed, and suddenly Human James stood hunched over in front of her, her hand still on his face. The two of them kept eye contact until Sage clicked her tongue and moved her hand, patting him on his head, and fell back with a breathy, “yeah.”

            She was about to go back to her distraught palms-shoved-into-eye-sockets mode when she remembered something -  another question. So she sat up, holding out a finger, “hold on,” and turned to Sirius, who was still in dog form, on the bed beside her, addressing mainly him but also James.

            “A year ago, I had a date with Amos Diggory.”

            She wasn’t done, but just this statement made Sirius look away, James pale, and Remus let out a soft, “oh, no.”

            “Oh? You know it?” she said, looking amongst the boys. Pointing at Sirius, she continued, “you were there. You showed up – and don’t try to say you didn’t – and I just want to know if… were you following me?”

            A second after she said it, she looked away and scolded herself. “Fuck, that sounds so self-absorbed—nevermind. I bet you were— _wait_ , hold on—” A sudden flashback and she was right back to looking between James and Sirius accusingly, “was it _you_ who threw all those fucking snowballs at him?”

            This quickly turned into her just accusing James, as Sirius was 1. a dog, and 2. expressionless, while also wasting no time to 3. slip away off the bed, pattering out of the room on his padded feet (Padfoot. Funny.) with Remus and Peter quick to follow (they would rather just slip out unnoticed).

            “Er,” said James, standing taller as Sage moved to sit upright. He took a step back, and she stood, eyeing him as she crossed her arms. “Well, you see— ugh, yes.”

            Upon seeing the exacerbated change in Sage’s expression, he hurried to add, “but! I er, well, I heard him ask you and… well, it wasn’t my idea – I was full ready just to mope the whole weekend – but you know my mates. So we maybe followed you. Only a little.”

            “James!” she said, shocked, letting her arms fall.

            “Fuck, Sage—I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair, “I shouldn’t’ve followed you around, and I shouldn’t’ve tried to sabotage your date. It was wrong of me, and I was only going off of how much I liked you without really thinking, and… _fuck_.”

            “I can’t believe you, James! That’s so fucking creepy! I’m—ugh, I’m probably not as bad as I’m feeling right now because I’m already worked up, but I’m still really fucking mad.”

            “…what?”

            “Ugh, it doesn’t matter. I just… today has been long, alright? I wasn’t expecting to tell you all this shit, and I wasn’t expecting to find out _more_. It’s just… it’s hard. I’m worked up, and thinking about you stalking me is just… too much to handle right now if I don’t have to.” She took in a breath, closing her eyes, picking at her nails. “I’m… you’re not mad at me, right?”

            “What?” James moved closer, looking her over.

            “Because of earlier. You’re not… are you mad at me?” Her eyes, worried and shifty, rolled over him. His brow furrowed as he stepped close again, standing right in front of her as he reached out to touch her arm sweetly.

            “Why would I be mad at you?” he asked, moving his hand down her arm until it found hers, intertwining their fingers. She looked away and shrugged, holding his hand back.

            “I don’t know, I just… I could see how you could be, that’s all. I worry.” And she still was worried – until James leaned over and kissed her gently. Moving his spare hand onto her jaw, he held her face angled at him as he pulled away just enough to whisper.

            “I’m not mad at you,” he said. Relieved, Sage let out a breath and her lips turned up at their corners, and she pushed herself into James, connecting their mouths again. She let her free hand move onto his chest, the one holding James’ squeezing.

            And so they kissed, softly at first, before they each took in breaths and put more force into it. Their hands disconnected so they could touch each other more, easier, until they were both breathing heavy and moving where they stood. They almost fell onto Remus’ bed, but Sage stopped them, and when James groaned, she pulled away just enough to say, “ _your_ bed, mate, not Remus’ – he has enough to deal with.”

            Connecting them again, she felt her heart race, her body fall on fire, and she remembered, pulling away again, “lock the door.”

            So, when they snogged further, making their way to James’ bed, Sage was ready to shut up and keep kissing him. He pulled his wand out of his back pocket, gave it a wave, causing the door to click as it locked. Neither of them heard this, though, as they were too busy – James put his wand away and almost immediately picked her up, hands on the bottom of her thighs, his torso between them.

            He didn’t _throw_ her onto his bed, but she hit it – her back, and in the instant she bounced because of the force at which she was _placed_ there, they disconnected again so he could say, “it’s been too long,” moving onto the bed so he was hovering over her.

            She giggled, hands on either side of his face. “It’s been, like, two weeks.”

            “Exactly,” whining, he moved away so he could look at her and pout. Her hair was messily falling around her head, her skin flushed, and a grin on her face, all of these things aids to James’ elation. “It’s been two whole weeks! That’s too long.”

            They kissed again, and hands wandered. It was only when his moved to take off her shirt that her smile fell and she sat up, remembering the scars there. Two weeks ago was before she fought Snape – James had not seen the scars and she did not want him to. He froze when she sat up and his smile fell as well as he looked her over, very clearly worried.

            “Is something wrong?” he asked, leaning back, looking her over. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to--”

            “No, it’s… I want to, I just… fuck, there’s just... I dunno.” She played with the bottom of her shirt, biting her lip.

            “Is it you're not up to it because of today? Or, like, an insecurity thing? I won’t make you do anything, but you should know I won’t judge you. I—” _fuck_. “—I care about you.”

            “James, you’re so sweet.” Sage smiled at him, and when she made eye contact, she blinked slowly. Her mind shut off, and she began to blankly take off her shirt. She closed her eyes as it came over her head, hands bundling the shirt at her side as she waited for him to say something. They were both very obvious – Cecil had done an excellent job with healing her, but as he said, the only thing to keep them from scarring was dittany (applied almost immediately, it would’ve done wonders) and she had none. The slash across her sternum was worse than the one on her stomach as it was deeper. They were both still red and long. The cut on her chest went from one shoulder to the opposite armpit (she knew it would most likely be visible when she wore low-cut shirts or shirts with thin straps), and the one on her stomach was the length of two of her index fingers, and when she sat, it looked just like her stomach had another roll.  

            It was a few seconds later Sage heard him speak, worry in his voice with an undertone of anger. “What happened?”

            “There… I don’t know.” Her shoulders fell. She had yet to open her eyes, as she didn’t think she could look at him, especially after she had just lied so pathetically.

            “Yes, you do,” he said, the angry undertone more prominent – he was in no way mad at her. He _knew_ someone did this, and he was fucking enraged at _them_. Was it Lucinda Talkalot? Fuck, it was probably her. But this had come out of nowhere – they hadn’t been particularly hostile for a while… and how long ago did this happen, he wondered. Because if it had been two weeks since he’d seen her without a shirt, for all he knew, this happened 13 days ago. Was she ever going to tell him? Why did she so obviously want to keep this from him? Was she scared of what he’d do, what he’d say, if she told him she fought Talkalot again?

            “I do.” Her eyes opened and met his only briefly before she looked away. She thought of an excuse – but she really hated lying to him. She wanted to tell him, she really did. But if she told him she fought someone, he’d be furious at them. If she told him the person she fought, the person who gave her such deep scars, was _Snape_? ...She couldn’t.

            “It was…” she swallowed, speaking slow. “It’s embarrassing… I was doing something with a dangerous plant I _should’ve_ known how to handle – I knew better, I really did – but still… I fucking picked its pot up, and it hit my chest—” she pointed to the slash on her sternum, in awe at how well she was lying to him. “And I dropped it, and as it was falling it hit me again—” the cut on her stomach, “—and I jumped away. And Cecil was there, too, because he was bored, and he got the thing away from me and healed me up. I know, I should’ve told you, but I just… I was so embarrassed by it. Like, this is something I should’ve been able to prevent, but I couldn’t, and… I dunno.”

            “Sage…” trailing off, he looked her over, from her sternum and the cut there to her rolled-up stomach with another. He wanted to believe her, and for the most part, he did. But there was a miniscule part of him questioning her. It shut up, though, as she looked at him again, her eyes wiping him of all doubt. “I don’t know what to say, but, like, we all fuck up. There’s nobody who’s perfect at everything, and since you’re already so perfect in so many different ways, you had to fuck up sometime, right?”

            James’ words made her grin, and she moved forward to kiss him again, avoiding the feelings of guilt over her lies. It was minutes later, after they’d been snogging hot and heavy to the point where James was hovering over her again, a hand supporting him as he did so. But he pulled away, just for a second, to tell her something he hadn’t been able to forget.

            “I’m a stag.”

            “What?” Breathless, Sage was listening to him, but she was still rather preoccupied with snogging him to talk very much.

             “Earlier, you said I was a deer – I’m not, really, I’m a stag.”

            “James, shut the fuck up and just kiss me.”


	23. Twenty-Three

            The first full moon where Sage knew was on a Wednesday. Fresh with the knowledge of where her boyfriend really went each month and why, she laid down in bed that night knowing there were four boys who were not doing the same. She couldn’t forget this. As she pulled back her blankets, they were dragging Remus out of the castle. As she sat down onto her mattress, they got him to wherever it was they went (they didn’t tell her, and she got the impression this was because they did not want her to follow. This wasn’t a possibility, though, as she was not a fucking Gryffindor and had a sense of mortal danger, unlike them). When she lay her head down onto her pillow and settled in, Remus began to transform. As she closed her eyes, the Marauders tried to control him.

            Sage had her eyes closed and she tried to fall asleep. But instead of the usual blackness, all she saw in her mind were things of horror - claws slashing into warm flesh, long, sharp teeth bared in a growl, the drip of hot, gooey, scarlet blood from long, twitching fingers onto a dusty wooden floor. It hit the wood in drops and splashed, kicking up the particles of dust and dirt around where it fell in a tiny, tiny cloud. She did not know whose fingers they were - it was too dark to see. The only light came from the silver moon just outside, hanging in the sky and peeking into the window - an intrusion.

            But, just then, as her eyes went from peacefully closed to squeezed shut, she could see - the hand was pale - white - and the fingers longer, scarred. Remus. A second after she realized it was his, it wasn’t anymore - it changed. The skin got darker, deeper, and the scars faded as the hand’s shape changed. Dark brown, callused, squarer. James. It changed again - skin lightening up to a light brown, a deeper tan, and fingers and hand seeming rectangular. She recognized those fingers as ones she’d seen run through long hair dramatically and hold a cigarette between them. Sirius. Then, again, skin lightened, and the fingers shortened and widened, fatter. Peter.

            Sage’s eyes opened to face her ceiling. There was no hand, only swirled texture above her bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the window, where a slight silver sliver entered the room. Her eyes shifted to the moon sitting outside before she turned away from it, onto her side, and closed her eyes again.

            _Think about anything,_ she told herself, _anything but tonight, anything but what’s happening._

            So she thought about Snape. And what he said - she couldn’t remember word-for-word, but she summarized it, mentally, as “you don’t know James, he sucks, and fuck you for liking him,” with a whole lot of “also he’s a liar,” “he’s dangerous,” and “he’s practically evil.”

            Of course, she didn’t believe him - not one bit, not remotely - and if anything, the thing she was maddest about was how he had the audacity to tell her about Remus. Sure, he didn’t _tell_ her, but it was his fault she knew. She had absolutely no regrets over fighting him, even though it didn’t exactly work out well for her.

            _Also_ , she thought, continuing the idea of her failure in the duel, _who knew Cecil was such a fucking badass? Since_ when _has he been able to duel Snape? Fuck, has he always been so good, and I’ve just never fucking noticed because he was always just showing me the side of him that likes things really passionately and reads comics so many times he memorizes them on accident? Damn._

            It took Sage about fifteen minutes to figure out she was not going to sleep, not when she was so worried. So, she lay there, in the dark, trying her damndest to not think about Remus. But after a few hours of doing nothing, minds wander (honestly, after a few _minutes_ , her mind wandered) and moods drop. So, hers did. Her mind wandered, and her already shitty mood got worse.

            In the morning, she got up, tired and already annoyed, and got ready in a zombie-esque daze, but she still made sure the first thing she did when she left was check on Remus in the nicest way she could manage.

 

            James did not mean to run into Cecil. He didn’t, really - he was just walking down the same corridor as him. They were going in different directions, and he was alone while Cecil was not. He would’ve walked by, and planned to, up until right when they started to pass each other. The person Cecil was with - some Ravenclaw a year below - was laughing at something he said when James stopped walking and cleared his throat, prompting both of them to look at him and stop.

            “Hey, er, Cecil, can I talk to you?” This was weird - he was not Cecil’s friend. It seems mean, but it was really just the truth. He and Cecil were not friends. Cecil was Sage’s friend, so they were friendly, but it was not like with Wendy. With Wendy, he would spend time with her just because she was cool. Sure, he enjoyed Cecil’s presence those few times they studied together, but they weren’t a _match_.

            Cecil knew this was weird. James could tell - he had that look of curiosity all Ravenclaws seemed to possess. He knew this was about Sage (what else could it possibly be about?), so he told James, “sure,” before he told the person accompanying him, “go on ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

            He shouldn’t be doing this. He screamed at himself that he was wrong, that there was nothing to be suspicious about. He should trust Sage, and he already felt guilt about not doing so. Now, going behind her back, he was doing… what? Cross-examining her? Making sure she wasn’t lying? Fuck, why couldn’t he just _trust_ her?

            “So…” Cecil rolled on the balls of his feet, clicking his tongue softly, looking away from James. “What’s this about, buddy?”

            “It’s about Sage-- but I’m sure you’ve figured that out,” said James, running a hand through his hair, “of course you did - you’re a Ravenclaw. That’s your thing. Fuck, anyways - I just, er, well, not long ago, did you heal a pair of cuts on Sage? I just… I, uh, wanted to thank you, if you did, I guess.”

            Cecil was suspicious, but he hid this well. “You don’t have to - it’s fine. But... she told you about it all? The fight?”

            Cecil knew he fucked up the instant he said this, as James’ expression changed dramatically. “Oh fuck, no she didn’t. And I did. Fuck.”

            “So, there _was_ a fight?” James did not mean to seem so eager, but it kept him from thinking too much about it - she lied to him. She lied to him. Why? Why didn’t she want him to know about this? He assumed it was Lucinda Talkalot, again, but just _did not understand_ why she would not tell him. “She told me something about a plant and I thought she might be lying, but I wasn’t certain, because she was doing a really good job and it was pretty believable, and… fuck.”

            James was silent for a second, during which Cecil was mentally debating if using the memory-erasing charm was _incredibly_ immoral or just _really_ immoral. It wasn’t _that_ bad - he could get away with it, right? Ah, fuck, it wasn’t going to happen.

            “Who did she fight?”

            Now, Cecil was not a fucking idiot, no matter how much he felt like one in the moment, and realized quickly that he should _not_ tell James it was Snape. He did not know much about James, but one thing he did know was the guy fucking _hated_ Snape. And it wasn’t like he was worried James might _kill_ the man, but… there would be blood, without a doubt. And Cecil could imagine how upset Sage would be if that happened, so he decided to lie. Cleverly.

            He sighed as if James were forcing him to say something he didn’t want to, and for good measure (and to avoid further complication), he started with, “you can’t tell either of them I told you, and you can’t do anything, alright? I’m telling you this, and you can’t do anything with the information. You’ll _just_ know. No action.”

            “I get it, Cecil, just… I _have_ to know.” James hated how desperate he sounded.

            “Alright,” said Cecil slowly. He let out a long breath, paying to his reluctance, and began, “it was a certain Slytherin--”

            “Talkalot. Fuck, I knew it. Of course.” James groaned, looking away from Cecil with a scowl.

            “Exactly,” said Cecil - he was a little amused, if he was honest, that he didn’t have to say anything - James just _guessed_. He was wrong, but Cecil was going to say it was her anyway. It was a good lie; Sage and Lucinda still hated each other, even though they had not spoken for a while and toned down their hostility. “But really, James, you can’t say anything. They were both pretty shaken up - it taught them a little bit of a lesson, you know? But that isn’t to say they’ll forget how scared they both were. But for now… I dunno, mate, just, let them deal with it from afar and don’t tell them you know, alright?”

            “I told you - I’m not going to do anything. I won’t.”

            “I heard you. But I just… I have to be sure, alright?”

            “Yeah.”

            James was elsewhere. He no longer looked at Cecil, instead into the distance, deep in thought. Cecil, ever the clever boy, realized he should say something else.

            “James?” he said. James’ attention snapped to him because of his sober tone. Cecil was not going to lie, here. This was full honesty. “Don’t… don’t be mad at Sage. She had her reasons for not telling you. Just… believe me. I can’t tell you all of them, because some _I_ don’t know, and those I do are things I have to keep between me and her. But she does have her reasons, and none of them are her not trusting you, or her _wanting_ to keep things from you. She trusts you. This is just one of those things, for whatever reason, she… doesn’t want you to know, alright?”

            “Yeah,” said James, and he really was not mad, just… he kept the fact that she lied to him in the back of his head.

            And it was with the knowledge that she lied and fought Lucinda that James went about his life. It was not at the forefront of his mind, but it was there. He kept his promise to Cecil and told no one, but he did think about it.

            Most specifically, he thought about it when he and Sage sat in the library, as he explained to her a concept in Transfiguration she struggled with, and Lucinda walked by. Sage looked up at her, frowned, and back down at the textbook. He thought about their fight as he watched them make eye contact. They were looks of distaste, sure, and reflected how they hated each other for a while, but they were not as complex as those of two people who fought not too long ago.

            James did not think about this. He recognized it, but he did not think about it - it was something he would look back on, later, when he found out, and curse himself for not noticing more, for overlooking.

  
            Sage did not enjoy making a big deal out of her birthday, and she hadn’t, for quite some time – it just felt _weird_ to do so. Everyone paying attention to her, a whole party devoted to her… it wigged her out. So, 30 November (only four days after her and her team’ stellar win against Ravenclaw!), when she turned 18, she did what felt natural – hung out with her mates.

            Sitting on a beanbag, Sage sipped on a bottle of butterbeer and laughed at her friends as they interacted. Beside her was Wendy, who would occasionally chime in with something clever or funny, while on her other side, James sat and looked at his girlfriend fondly while simultaneously playing wizard chess with Peter.

            Diana sat next to Wendy, holding her hand gently, and beside Diana was Amos, who James kept sending… _looks_. He wasn’t being _threatening_ , but he was obviously suspicious.

            “Honestly, the whole of the U.K. can go suck a fucking dick,” Sirius said from his spot on the floor. Though, as he said this, Sage’s eyes travelled downward onto his chest, where, printed on an oversized sweater so it was both obvious and obnoxious, was the Union Jack.

            “Totally,” Xan agreed, taking a sip from their drink. “I mean, even _if_ you think it’s okay to…”

            Ah, politics – something all teenagers are new to and most explore energetically. The idea of governments and such things were introduced to them, and years before, they began to form their own views on the way things should be. But, as older teens, they were finding themselves more enthralled by politics. They sat down often with friends to discuss ideas and occasionally sat with others to debate. Either way, they had opinions and wanted to share them. This was important, too, as so many things were happening in 1977 (though as it was almost December, the year was nearly over). They had voices they wanted to be heard.

            But Sage was pretty fucking high, so she wasn’t really in the mood to discuss the United States’ most recent president. Zoning out, she paid attention to James and Peter’s game instead. Well, she _tried_ to pay attention. She kept getting distracted by her hand and would end up staring at it for a couple seconds ( _it’s so weird… hands are weird… why are they shaped like that? So they can grab stuff? Why 5 fingers? Who decided this?_ ) before watching Peter’s queen murder one of James’ rooks.

            “I want to stop playing,” James said with narrowed eyes, inspecting his dead rook and the other pieces he had lost. “Not because I’m losing, but because this is fucking dumb.”

            Peter shrugged and turned to listen to the group’s conversation.

            “No, no, Sirius is our wine aunt. _Remus_ is the gay uncle.”

            “That works, as I am _aggressively_ not heterosexual.” Remus looked at Sirius, “And this idiot does love alcohol and giving bad advice.”

            “It’s not _all_ bad advice,” Sirius groaned, taking another sip of his drink.

            “Yesterday, you told me that to remember what I was studying, I should just put my books under my pillow and when I sleep I would absorb the information,” Peter said, stretching his legs out.

            “I stand by that statement, Peter.”

            “Xan is our weird cousin who lives somewhere far away who doesn’t seem to bend to the rules of the Universe and gender,” Wendy added, glancing at the Slytherin who smiled.

            “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be,” they said, hand on their heart as they wiped away a fake tear. “Who is our mum friend?”

            “Honestly? I think it’s James,” said Remus, causing the Potter boy to look over with narrowed eyes.

            “I’m not responsible enough to be the mum,” he said, crossing his arms.

            “So all mothers have to be totally responsible?” Remus asked, “but think about it - whenever Sirius or Peter or I are sick or just really drunk, James takes care of us. There’s loads of other reasons if you think about it. James takes care of people.”

            James huffed, “I don’t want to be the mum friend.” Sage pat his head comfortingly, making him bury his face into her shoulder.

            “Amos is the hot older brother who’s actually really nice and just wants the best for us,” Wendy said, pointing at the boy. Amos blushed.

            “Oh, so _Amos_ gets ‘hot older brother’ but I get ‘mum’? How is this fair?” James groaned, coming out from Sage’s shoulder.

            “James, be nice to your son,” Diana scolded, crossing her legs. James glared at her before looking at Sage with big, sad eyes. She shushed him, pulling him into her chest. He was fine with this.

            “Peter’s the sweet younger brother who we would all die to protect,” Wendy continued after thanking her girlfriend. “Cecil is the nerd younger brother we all thought would get bullied but somehow he’s friends with everyone and is cooler than us.”

            The Ravenclaw gave Wendy a conflicted look, asking slowly, “...thank you?”

            “Why are you giving them all such long ones? Mine is just ‘mum’.” James complained again, coming up for air (he had been pretty invested in Sage’s lips).

            “Chill, mate, we’re just ‘wine aunt’ and ‘gay uncle’.” Sirius gestured to himself and Remus.

            “Ooh-- I change my answers. Remus is the gay uncle who we wanted to have raise us, but he was too busy owning a combination bookstore-café, and Sirius is the wine aunt who gives bad life advice but really good sex tips and also has really cool stories our mum wouldn’t want us to be hearing.”

            “And I’m still just ‘mum.’ I hate you all.”

            “And JAMES is our mum who we all act annoyed by but we would trust with all our secrets and our lives and who is the first person we go to when we have new gossip because he’s so chill about it and also who--”

            “Wendy, I think we get it,” Diana placed her hand on the Hufflepuff’s shoulder, causing her to quiet.

            “Good,” James said, smiling.

            “Anyways, Sage is our sister who is good at, like, almost everything but is super chill about it who we go to if we want someone to not judge us,” Wendy pointed at the birthday girl.

            “Not true, I will judge you super hard.”

            “Yeah, but you’re, like, nice about it.” Wendy looked beside her to where Diana sat. “Diana is our aunt who we’re pretty sure fought in a war but like… can’t ask about it, and who we would die for, but she wouldn’t let us.”

            “OKAY, I want to do Wendy’s,” Sage sat up, pulling away from James who pouted. “Wendy’s the cool, creative, and stylish cousin who always manages to be way prettier than us but won’t let us feel like it. Also, she has the best reactions to stories.”

            “Bless you, Sage. I was starting to think I would have to do my own.” Wendy gave a sigh of relief, smiling and wrapping her arm around Diana.

            “Oooh,” Sage said, getting an idea as she remembered Wendy brought her camera with her. “We should take a picture!”

            So, they all got together, using magic to hold the camera up in front of them as they posed, none of them looking perfect.

            Amos was making a ridiculous-looking face, next to him Peter had a blinding smile. Cecil and Xan were looking at each other with matching grins. Wendy’s arms were around Diana from behind her, smiles on both girls faces. Sirius seemed to be saying something, mouth open, though he was still obviously smiling. Beside him was Remus who was rolling his eyes. And James had entrapped a laughing Sage in his arms, kissing her on the cheek. She was positively glowing.


	24. Twenty-Four

            Horace Slughorn was tired. The day had been long and his classes full of _kids_ , and he was _tired_. There were still classes left, though, to his dismay. He still had more to go. More dealing with hormonal teenagers who can’t take their eyes off each other for two seconds, let alone their hands. More dealing with thirteen-year-olds who thought they knew everything and when proven wrong made fun of him in a genuinely malicious way that actually hurt. More twelve-year-olds who were just learning how to bully accurately. More fifteen-year-olds who hated his class and told him so.

            But still, he was always tired. This was not new – kids were always like this, and though they grew up, there was always a new wave of students to replace them. It was a never-ending cycle, and it was _tiring._ But he loved it – he loved dealing with the children, even if sometimes he wondered when they’d just _shut up_. And even though he was tired, he didn’t let anyone see this. He didn’t have to hide it well, either – it was obvious, still, in the way his smile fell when backs were turned, the bags under his eyes… but nobody noticed. He was fine with it, too. They didn’t need to notice – they were children, not his therapist.

            Even tired, he went around the room with energy, complimenting students and guiding them with a smile. He did this with his seventh-year Advanced Potions class, and when he passed a Ravenclaw’s work, he tried not to grimace. The potion was supposed to be gold, bright and shiny. Hers was brown. Murky, muddy, gross brown.

            “Off your game, today, Ms. Newton?” he asked, passing them by. Everyone in this class was talented at potions – they had to be, to get into the class. But some days were just… _shitty_. “I suspect you had difficulty remembering how many times to stir as well as struggling with your unicorn hair measurements?”

            Ms. Newton nodded, head in her hands. Horace pat her on the back gently and said, “not to worry. Well, er—better luck next class, yes?”

            The class was nearing its end and Sage was only just finishing cutting her bicorn horn. She tried not to hurry, as rushed work wasn’t her best, but _fuck_ , almost everyone else was done and she wasn’t and there were only about five minutes left in class and this bit of horn just _wouldn’t_ cut. Still, she knew this was practically the last step, which soothed her. So, tongue between her teeth, she let her knife hit the table after cutting through horn for the last time that day, and leaned back so she wasn’t hunched over her desk. It was done, and all she needed to do was pour the horn in…

            The bronze colour of the potion changed as she added horn, turning lighter, yellower, and prettier. It went from bronze to gold – the perfect gold, a true, beautiful gold. Sage looked at it, watched this happen, and had a look on her face of offence. She’d made this potion perfectly, and she hadn’t meant to. She didn’t _want_ to – she was just _making_ it. This was an accident. How fucking dare this potion she didn’t even attempt to get nice turn out so _perfect_ when so often she _tried_ to get things perfect and utterly fucked up.

            And she was just standing there, at her desk, almost glaring at this potion, an expression of offence on her face. She didn’t know how the fuck she did this, and when Slughorn came up to her and told her, “oh, Ms. Charles, this is… spectacular!” she didn’t miss the questioning tone in his voice. He didn’t know how the fuck she did this, either. Nice.

            But he didn’t hesitate to turn to the class and address them, although they were mostly just antsy for him to dismiss them. “Miss Charles here has produced a perfect chryseum potion! Fine work!”

            As he praised her, Sage’s face turned bright red and she looked down, lips pursed. There was a stain on the floor, next to her foot. Fascinating. It seemed old. Pretty faded, hard to see, really. Absolutely fascinating.

            “Take thirty points to Hufflepuff,” he continued, smiling at her, “for this excellent potion-making!”

            He paused and gave her a look, “I _do_ wish you would join the Slug Club, Miss Charles. We’d love to have you.”

            This was not the first time the Professor had asked Sage to join his group of favourite students. He was quite adamant about her becoming a part of the group, as she seemed successful and her brother had, in his time, been a member. But Sage, frankly, thought it wasn’t something she wanted to take part in. And even if she had wanted to join, she hardly had the time for it, with all her homework and responsibilities as Quidditch Captain.

            “Oh, Professor,” Sage said sheepishly, “you know I can’t... I have my Quidditch Captain duties, I’ve just no time…”

            “Yes, yes… Either way, excellent job, Miss Charles.”

            “Thank you, sir.” Her lips still pursed, Sage smiled at the professor until he walked away. The second he left her, she let out a breath and untensed. Staring at her potion for another second, she tried not to glare, to be happy about it, but found herself unable. So she looked up, around, and met a pair of hazel eyes crinkled up from a grin. James’ smile was wide and proud, and incredibly infectious. She was smiling right back at him after less than a second, and the bitterness left her.

            Until she made eye contact with someone else who was looking at her – the smile fell as she met Severus Snape’s gaze, all-too-aware of his sneer directed at her.

            Snape had made no effort to hide his distaste for Sage since the duel. It was quiet, housed in glared looks and harsh scoffs. There was one time when they passed each other in a corridor and he whispered something short and mean only she could hear. She couldn’t remember what it was, but she remembered quite vividly how much it scared her. He was scary.

            So when she caught his eye, it was nothing new to see his nasty look. She figured he was in a bad mood as she looked away, as the expression he gave had something particularly mean in it. But whatever – she was fine. She could deal with his bullshit, even though it made her lose her smile almost instantly and turn back to her potion.

            It would’ve been difficult for James to miss the rapid shift in Sage’s facial expression. She broke eye contact with him, grinning so bright James almost feared blindness one second and frowning the next. He watched her look back at her cauldron with furrowed brows and looked around to see what she’d seen. Something she looked at made her upset, he knew.

            What he didn’t expect was to see none other than fucking Snape. They caught each other’s eyes and sent each other hostile expressions before they looked away, and James was super fucking confused. Was Snape so mad as to glare at her for doing something well? Or was he just an arse to her because she was dating James?

            And the looks on both their faces – particularly Sage’s – made him think this wasn’t the first time they’d _interacted_. But if Sage had a run-in with Snape, even a small one, she would’ve told him, right?

            _She didn’t say anything about her fight with Lucinda, though,_ he thought. The next thing to run through his head was the idea of how her keeping her experience with Snape a secret made sense. If the thought about it, really, it did. But he didn’t want to think about it.

            _Fuck, something’s happened,_ he thought as he realized – this was new. Either he just didn’t notice before (which was practically impossible, as a freaky long amount of his day was spent watching her – not creepily! He just… he really liked the way her face was shaped, and how her hair shined in the light, and… getting off track. If she was acting weird about Snape before then, he would’ve noticed.) or something happened _recently_. Another thought, _what has he done? If he’s intimidated her into keeping quiet… but she’d still say something, wouldn’t she? If he was truly threatening her, she’d be smart and know she can tell me. I think. But isn’t that the point of being scared silent - you don’t tell anyone because you’re too scared? Fuck._

            It was when James was thinking about shit that Sage began to clean up and Slughorn made his way over to Snape’s cauldron. The professor peered inside, gave it a good look, and smiled. Usually, this was when Snape was praised for being a prodigy, a true potioneer. Slughorn would go off about Snape’s skill, sometimes – at the least, he would award a few points to Slytherin.

            But Slughorn didn’t do that. Instead, he gave a simple, modest compliment, that would’ve pleased anybody else. “Good work today, Mister Snape. Well done.”

            If Snape was in a bad mood already, this was topping it off – the compliment was nice, but Snape was so used to over-the-top praise that it was like spitting at his feet. And, as Sage thought briefly may be the truth, he was even more angry fucking _Charles_ had gotten _his_ praise.

            The class ended as Sage was finishing her clean-up – she was frantically washing out her cauldron, desperately attempting to not be _as_ late as she already was. But by the time she was done, the class had filed out. All except for one person – Snape. He was a second ahead of her, though still late, and as she grabbed her bag, her hands began to shake ever-so-slightly. She needed to get out of there – fast. Slughorn was in office, out of the room. But, still, she knew, logically, Severus couldn’t do anything. But still, she gulped and hurried.

            He made a noise as she walked away from her desk – he had stepped away from his, and was almost beside her as they walked to the door. The noise was something of a scoff, dry chuckle, and huff all mashed into one – a strange noise which conveyed his bitter mood well and made her hyperaware of any sounds he made as she expected him to speak.

            And he did. He didn’t whisper, like before, because he didn’t need to. All he had to do was speak normally. They were alone and he had nothing to fear.

            “I guess for how much you fail at duelling, you make up for it with accidental, occasional skill in potions. Too bad you can’t brew a potion to make you good enough – and brave enough – to fight your own battles.”

            Sage’s walking had slowed to a halt as he spoke. Her eyes closed as her tongue wiped over her teeth and her lips pursed, a sigh falling from her. The fear inside of her faded slightly, replaced by anger, as she sensed the greasy boy stop next to her. Right behind her, where he could whisper into her ear if he wished.

            Her breathing became heavier as she tried to control the fire inside of her, the same fire which had fuelled her tongue when she snapped back at him before. But it would not be contained. Her chest felt hotter and her tongue sharper, and she was screaming at herself to open her eyes and keep walking without saying anything.

            But she imagined the smug look on Snape’s face and fucking _couldn’t_.

            Her tongue clicked, much louder than she wanted it to, and her eyes opened. In an instant, she turned around, facing him, eyes soaked in her hatred for him.

            “ _Do you_ ever _just shut the_ fuck _up?_ ” She regretted her words before she said them, as she said them, and even more after she said them. Severus’ eyes widened in both shock and anger.

            “ _Excuse me_?” he said – this was it. Her chance to pretend she said something else. He sure as hell wouldn’t believe her, but… the _trying_ thing could’ve helped. An “ah, sorry, messed up there, mmm, bye!” wouldn’t make things much better, but not going that route would make them so much _worse_.

            “Are you going to leave me the fuck alone? Ever? Because if not, I’m not just going to fucking take it. I haven’t told James, not about anything—and don’t you utter another _word_ about him, I swear—I haven’t told him, and do you know why?” Sage gave him absolutely no time to answer. This was bad! REALLY bad! She was getting worked up even more, and had even brought out the index finger to point at him angrily! Fuck!

            “Because I _know_ the second I do, there will be nothing – _nothing_ – I can do to stop him. And can you _imagine_ how angry he’d be if he found out about this? Especially if he found out it was _you_? I don’t think he’d waste a fucking second before he went off to go find you. And I know him – he won’t _seriously_ hurt you – he’s too good for that. I don’t know _what_ he would do, but we _both_ know it won’t be pretty. I wouldn’t doubt him, in his unwavering loyalty – and _yes_ , I’m still defending him – he would risk his own safety to get to you. I don’t know _what_ he’d do, but I’m pretty sure he’d forget about all risks. He wouldn’t care if something got him in trouble – if it got him _expelled_ , because he’d be so _fucking_ mad.”

            Sage took in a breath before she continued. She had taken a step forward, closer to him, and he took a step back. This dance had repeated until he had his back against a desk and she her finger in his face. He got her scared with violence, she got him scared with the way she spoke.

            “I’m not scared,” he said, leaning forward to loom over her as if to prove his point, “of you, or of Potter.”

            “You don’t have to be. Not if you just fucking leave me the _fuck_ alone. I may be too weak to duel you, but I’m getting better. And with the rate I’m learning new shit, the next time you try anything, I won’t need Cecil or anyone to help me.”

            Severus laughed. “You expect me to fear _you_? You _really are_ an idiot.”

            With that, he kicked off the desk, seemingly unaffected by her words, and began to walk out of the room again. Sage watched him go – walking in a manner best described as ‘ _edgy strutting_ ’ until he reached the doorway. He took a step out, turned on his heel to go left, and froze.

            A hand, its owner concealed to Sage, jutted out into view from the corridor – someone was standing right outside the door, and when Snape turned, he would’ve run into them if it weren’t for the hand. The hand, moving incredibly quickly, hit Snape right in his face, and was gone before Sage’s eyes had finished widening.

            Snape reeled, but the hand was not done. As Sage snapped to attention and ran to the doorway, the scene came more into view just as James’ other hand grabbed Snape’s collar, steadying him, allowing the first hand to punch again.

            Sage was vaguely aware of her yelling James’ name at him as he punched again. These were not soft punches, and they were not warning punches in any way. These punches expressed how much he wanted to _hurt_. The noises James’ fist made as it connected with a bloody face weren’t censored in any way, and just served to add to Sage’s fear that if James kept going, he could kill Snape.

            But he could not keep going - no matter how much he wanted to - because as Sage grabbed his arm and pleaded with him to stop, his hand reeled back again, blood in the air around his fist and Severus’ face, Snape pulled out his wand.

            In a second, there were no punches and the mist of blood pushed from Snape’s face was no longer coming in bursts, as James was pulled away from Snape by an invisible force. His arm fell out of Sage’s hands and he flew backward. This did not seem to do anything but slow him down as he sped back to Snape. He was running, face forward, almost leaping back onto the boy.

            Everything moved fast as Sage moved in his way - he had to skid on his heel to stop from slamming into her - and called his name again, this time accompanied by a “ _stop_.” Snape bent over, a hand feeling over his broken and bloody face, his wand in his other, pointed at the ground. His thumb moved over a split lip and as he pulled it away, he could see the streak of scarlet upon it and his lips stretched into a mean smile over his red teeth.

            As James’ arms’ flailing slowed, Snape chuckled once, only audible to Sage, whose back was to him as she continued to hold James back. She had a hand on each of his arms in an attempt to stop his impending advancement. He tried to bypass her, but she kept her grip strong. Her muscles were of aid to her and kept him from moving. All Sage could feel was the fear surrounding her heavy-beating heart and James’ arms under her hands.

            James’ hand, hurt and bloody, stopped its attempts to reach and hit Snape again as he took a deep breath in, nostrils flared and hazel eyes dark. Sage had never seen him like this - utterly _furious_ \- and _fuck_ , she hated it.

            His hand, tingling and stinging, twitched in the air, ears ringing as his chest rose and fell hard and heavy. Blood on his fist and fury in his veins, his hand twitched once more before it moved onto Sage’s shoulder. He grasped at her shirt as if he were trying to ground himself and come down from his adrenaline high. Breathing heavy, he let his eyes move from Snape’s bloody face to the girl who acted as a barrier between them.

            James looked at her, then his eyes flickered back to Snape. As his undamaged hand’s thumb wiped at the sweat above his lip, his hazel eyes met Sage’s green, and he let words fall from his parted lips, shooting out like weapons on their own.

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked, speaking to both of them simultaneously and at nobody - it was a call into the universe, and even as such, he knew it would hit both of them.

            “James, please, just--” Sage’s hands shook as she moved them from his arms to his chest. “Fuck, _stop_.”

            “What the fuck, Sage?” he asked, voice in no way kind. Sage was very aware, this whole time, of the possible consequences of this. Their class had run off, hurrying to their next period, but at any moment, Slughorn’s next class could come around the corners. Slughorn himself could come out - and if they were caught, what then? James would be utterly fucked, and along with facing detentions, he could lose his Head Boy title, or something else, and it would be all her fault. James may not’ve cared, but she did. And her first priority was to get them out of the open corridor, but the empathy in her didn’t want to leave Snape.

            Sure, he was a prat, and didn’t deserve anything from them, and she could assume he wouldn’t say anything about this (if he did, James would be sure to speak about what Snape did to her, and then he’d be even more fucked than James), but she couldn’t just _leave_ him there. When she left with James, she would have to grab him and do _something_. She did not know - her first challenge was getting James to leave in the first place.

            “We can’t stay here,” she said, glancing behind her at Snape. “The next class will get here at any second now - we have to go.”

            James knew she was right, logically, so he let her grab his unharmed hand and pull him down the corridor in the direction of Snape. Still buzzing with anger, he stopped dead in his tracks when Sage grabbed onto the sleeve of Snape’s robes.

            “Woah, what--”

            “James, shut up. He’s coming with. We need to fucking go.”

            “Get your filthy hands off--”

            “ _Don’t you fucking speak to her_.” Words left James’ mouth angrily and he clenched his fist again, pursing his lips to keep in the involuntary hiss at the sudden pain. Sage squeezed his hand in hers and scolded him.

            “Shut up, both of you. We’re leaving, unless you pricks _want_ to get caught.”

            “I don’t need your help,” growled Snape, pulling at his sleeve to escape her grip. It was no use - she was holding onto the fabric and did not plan to let go anytime soon, and if he wanted to shake her off so he was not pulled along with the two of them, he would have to either hex her or take off the robe.

            “I know you don’t. I just don’t trust you.” And with that, she took a hard left, pulling both of them with her as she sped into a secluded area of a corridor she hoped wouldn’t be found by anyone anytime soon. She let go of Snape with a throw of her hand toward a wall, and looked up at James. “We need to fucking talk, but we’ll do that later. For now… ugh, fuck, I don’t fucking know. Whatever - we just had to get out of there.”

            “Why didn’t you tell me you fought Snape?!” James’ question wasn’t a question - he knew her reasons, through-and-through, but that didn’t make him any less angry. He gave no time before he turned to Snape, “and _you_.”

            Snape’s sneer was obvious, but Sage tried not to look at him - his face was beaten and bloody. Gore did not bother her, but this did. Looking at him made her queasy, if not just because she remembered what it was like when punches were still thrown.

            “I cannot believe you-- going after Sage? Fuck, I know you hate me, but that’s just crossing a fucking line. I have half a mind to--”

            “You forget--” Snape spoke over James, voice bitter as he stepped to walk away. “--she is her own person, Potter. I did not attack her without probable cause. We duelled, but she proved inept.”

            “Are you seriously trying to claim she-- oh _fuck_ , Snape, you’re just making this worse on yourself. When I’m through with you--” James took a step forward, a threat, toward Snape, who stood ready to leave them.

            “James, _stop_ ,” said Sage, putting her hand on his chest to prohibit any forward motion. She put no pressure onto him, only touched him, but he did stop, though he glared at Snape and his nostrils flared once more. His injured hand held out his wand - Sage had not seen him draw it - pointed at his rival, so she used her other hand, taking it from his, to place on his wrist, guiding his hand until the wand pointed at the floor.

            “This isn’t over,” said Snape, taking his first steps away. “I won’t forget this.”

            “Fuck off,” said James, and for a second Sage thought the Slytherin would not, instead send a hex at James or attack either of them. But after glaring incredibly heavily for a moment, with a dramatic flourish of his robes, he was gone.

            So, Sage turned to James, took her hands off him as she crossed her arms, looked at his damaged hand, and told him, “ _we need to talk._ ”


	25. Twenty-Five

            Sage ignored the clock on James’ wrist reminding her of the class she was missing. In her hands she held his hand, inspecting the consequences of the fight. On his knuckles, the flesh was damaged, cracked open. With the blood washed off, the injuries were obvious, and as she inspected them, she asked, “do you want to heal them, or do you think you’ll be fine?”

            In front of her, James sat, like her, on the floor. He was hunched over and silent, watching her as she looked over his hand. They sat on the Astronomy tower - there were no classes so they would be safe - after James beat up Snape, a place they went to talk. There was a rift between them, even though their knees bumped against each other’s and his hand sat in her lap.

            He flexed his fingers and pretended it didn’t hurt. Sage looked up at him and he shrugged, avoiding her eyes. She sighed slightly and let go of his hand. Pulling it back, he rubbed a thumb over his hurt knuckles. There was a silence for a couple seconds, awkward and pregnant.

            “I don’t know what to say,” Sage began, looking away from him as his eyes snapped to her. Playing with a bit of her shoe, she continued. “I know I fucked up - I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you. I shouldn’t’ve _fought_ him. I should’ve walked away when I had the chance and just shut up when he was taunting me, and I just… I’m sorry. I know I can’t really undo anything, but I am - I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I don’t know what you heard, back there, but just… the ‘me being worried about what you’d do’ wasn’t really a big of a part of it. I was worried about _you_. I didn’t know-- I _don’t_ know what this does to you, and I just… what I imagined, I didn’t want to put you through. There was a part of me that didn’t know _how_ to tell you, too. I just… I’m ready for this to be over, but I know it won’t be anytime soon.”

            She took in a breath and shrugged. As she spoke again, she looked away from the floor and at him - he was looking at her so intensely, so focused, almost studious. It made her gulp and speak softly. “But, er, yeah. That’s my thing. Er, I mean, that’s all I can think to say.”

            James nodded. They made intense eye contact for a few seconds before he cleared his throat, “that was very… mature, I guess.”

            When she tilted her head slightly and looked at him strangely, he elaborated. “I mean… I’m so used to big disagreements and arguments and stuff like this to turn into yelling things. Like, big fights get emotional really fast and turn into this thing where one person accuses the other and it goes back and forth and nothing gets solved. But, like, you just… said what you wanted to.”

            He shrugged and smiled slightly, “I dunno, I just… I find it admirable.”

            “Yeah, I don’t really like arguing. But then, sometimes, I get _really, really_ fucking mad, and… yeah.”

            She didn’t expect him to understand what she just said, but he nodded at her like he did.

            “Yeah.” There was a pause as he took in a tense breath. “I guess I can try to do the same thing. So, uh… I don’t know what to do.”

            “Do you want to go chronological? Just… a recount of events in your point of view? Then maybe I can do one in mine, and… I dunno, we’ll just… understand.” A thought in Sage’s head kept repeating, but she couldn’t say it, not then. This was for talking about shit, and what she couldn’t stop worrying about was something for later. _Fuck, I don’t want to break up_.

            And she really thought they might - if they couldn’t talk this out, there was a big possibility that they’d break it off. And she didn’t want that to happen. It was actually her worry which made her approach things this way, the calm way - the _right_ way. Maybe, if she was smart about this, she could keep everything from going to shit. (She couldn’t let it go to shit, not now, when things were just beginning.)

            “That sounds good.” So he began, recounting things from what he saw, starting with when he first saw those cuts, moving to his thoughts of doubt and his guilt over his doubt (he tried, _really hard_ , not to say something meanly, like “but I guess I was right to doubt,” in a really snooty voice, as he knew that would take things from shitty to _worse_ ). There was internal debate where he thought of keeping his interaction with Cecil a secret, but he didn’t. And Sage was shocked to hear it, but she understood.

            So they moved on, and before long Sage told him her story, about the fight. It took some persuading of herself to give the uncensored version - she told him about it, a full account, mentioning the Ravenclaw at the beginning, their argument, her thoughts of fleeing (“ _I should’ve just left before it started, leave it at that_ ”). She told him with rolling hand gestures and weird voices, “and he was like ‘lol James sucks,’ and I was like ‘uh, no he doesn’t, you prick.’ And I knew the ‘prick’ part was unnecessary, but… yeah. So we went on like that for a while. And--”

            And this was a tricky part. She remembered what Snape said, what he helped her realize, and froze. Should she tell him...?

            _This whole conflict boils down to ‘you should’ve told him’ and you’re debating keeping more from him? Tell him!_

            So she did. “And… alright, so, this is tricky, because he didn’t _tell_ me, but he sure as hell was trying to get me to figure it out…” At seeing James’ confused expression, she huffed slightly at herself and tried to remember. “So he said something… I dunno, like ‘James sucks, you shouldn’t trust him, he’s keeping shit from you’ and I was like ‘ha-ha, fuck you, he’s not malicious so shut up,” and he mentioned something… it was this prank, I think-- oh, you know what I’m talking about.”

            James sure as hell _did_ know what she was talking about. And he didn’t hide it - the sharp intake of breath through his teeth, the lean backward, the eyes which screamed with recognition. He clicked his tongue and spoke in a breathy, annoyed voice, “yeah, I know what you’re talking about. He fucking-- he told you. About Remus, didn’t he?”

            “Like I said, he didn’t _tell_ me, but he talked about this prank and mentioned how you all went out once a month around a certain time, and… I dunno, something else, I think like, ‘don’t you ever wonder where all those scars come from?’ and I _think_ I told him to fuck off again, but, like, whatever. And it took me a second, but I realized. So he didn’t _tell_ me, but he _helped_ , you know? I think I would’ve figured it out on my own after a while, but… yeah. It was shitty of him and he should be held accountable, but less of a personal-vengeance thing and more of a… tell Dumbledore or something. Or just… no violence. I mean, you’re _Head Boy_ now, so…”

            “Are you suggesting I give him so many detentions that in order for him to serve them all, he’d have to stay in school for thirty years?”

            “I’m not _not_ saying that…” Sage trailed off. Her eyes moved onto his and not a second later, they were both giggling. It didn’t last long, though, as she had more to say. “But, yeah, so he told me that, and… it’s fuzzy, but I think there was more arguing, and… fuck, yeah, then we were fighting or whatever, and I blocked him, he blocked me, you know, then Cecil shows up, and _he’s_ arguing with Snape. And it didn’t take long for Snape to try something again, but both Cecil and I thought he would be the target - you should’ve heard what he was saying, it got Snape mad - so we thought he had redirected attention toward him, so I wasn’t ready for his shit to hit me and I was a second too late to block and… slash, slash, you know.”

            James took in a breath. “So Cecil healed you?”

            “Yeah, but only after he knocked Snape out.” And thus, she continued, giving him an account of how she felt shitty for lying, apologizing for it, and continued until she got to that day’s events. When she finished, she let out a heavy breath, relieved.

            “So… we’re clear on what happened… now what?” James, eyes shifting from the windows to her. “Do we just… what?”

            “Well, er, I guess we can… fuck, I dunno. I kinda want to take a break,” she sighed. He took in a sharp breath and tensed, and she realized her mistake, rushing to fix it. “No, no! I mean, like in talking! Like we sit here for a little bit! Just so we can recharge a little, not… you know. Fuck, that came out wrong. Yeah, just, we… absorb stuff, I guess. And while we do that, we can… I dunno, think about what else we want to say, or what we want the other to say? Fuck, I dunno. None of my conflicts have involved such… _serious_ stuff before. Damn.”

            “I hear you - I’m used to yelling at Peter over dirty socks, not talking out this shit with my girlfriend.”

            This made Sage quiet – the voice in her head screaming at her _what if he wants to break up?!_ screamed louder as she did so, and before she could stop herself, she asked, “do you still—"

            She caught herself, but it was too late – he’d heard, and she was fucked.

            “Do I still what?” he asked, brow furrowed. Sage shook her head.

            “Nevermind, it’s dumb. It’s not important.”

            “No, it’s bothering you – what is it?” James’ voice was in no way pressuring but incredibly compassionate, and as he started to fiddle with her robes slightly, fingers playing with the loose fabric, she took a breath.

            “I just…” she looked down, watching his fingers twiddle with her robes. The black fabric moved slightly as he held it between fingers and traced squiggles onto it. “You still want me to be your girlfriend, right?”

            On her last word, she looked up with doe eyes, and caught his. His expression changed instantly, a mix of offence and shock. He was appalled she would even think and really worried he would not want to be with her anymore. So, he told her so.

            “ _Sage_ , are you kidding me? Of course I do – I’m not going to lie; this whole thing got me mad, and sad, because you didn’t trust me and all that, and worried… but I still want you to be my girlfriend. I don’t… I don’t think I can tell you how much I still want you to be my girlfriend.” James’ hands stopped moving, and his left moved up to her face, brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear. Her hands stay clenched together in her lap, but her tense shoulders relaxed as she felt the gentle brush of his finger against her cheek.

            She gave him a soft smile and a sigh of relief. “Thank Merlin. I don’t know why I was so worried… I’m glad. I mean, we obviously still have some stuff to talk about, but after that… I dunno, I think this will’ve been good for us. In the long run, I mean. Because you know how so many people say things about how you have to have fights in relationships? I think they’re wrong – I mean, there will always be _disagreements_ , but in the way they mean? Where they see people yelling and screaming at each other and think ‘ _oh, yeah, top-notch couple right there_ ,’ or something? I think that’s shit – but us, sitting down, talking about stuff – that’s the way things should be.”

            “That being said,” James smiled, “I’m sure there’ll come a time, one day, when we have a big fight.”

            “Probably.” A chuckle, then, “what do you think it will be over? Dirty socks?”

            The laugh James let out was light and contagious, as his were. It made her laugh, too, and when he spoke again, she realized his hand was in hers – the uninjured one – their fingers intertwined.

            “Merlin, I hope not.” He smiled at her for a second before she decided to ask him about something else.

            “Hey, James?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Earlier, a couple minutes ago, you said… you said this ordeal worried you.” Sage gave his hand a barely-recognizable squeeze. “I… I dunno exactly in what way it worried you, but… I think I understand, and I’m sorry.”

            James took a breath. “Yeah, I was worried. I saw the cuts and I thought about what happened, about how I should’ve been there, how I could’ve helped, and, I dunno, what if it had been worse? And I wasn’t there? I just… fuck. And when I thought it was from a fight, I worried because I felt like I should be there to help, and I worried you’d do something like it again and wouldn’t walk away from it.

            “I was—I still _am_ worried that you don’t trust me, and I’m worried that if something like this happens again, it’ll be worse.” He paused, made a sound half-scoff, half-chuckle, then, “and now I’m worried you’ll think I think you’re, like, too weak to handle yourself. You’re not – I fully believe in you, but… sometimes, the person you’re up against is just _better_.”

            When she was sure he’d finished his thought, Sage responded. “I don’t think you think I’m weak – and if you did, you’d kinda be right. I mean, I don’t _have_ to be super tough, usually, so I’m not. I’m fine with that.”

            After a pause, Sage spoke again. “I’m sorry I worried you. I understand why and how I did, and I’m sorry. I… I do trust you, James. Really.”

            James smiled, though it was still strained. They still had so much to talk about, but in the moment, all he could do was kiss her.

            It was good their talk finished then, because that weekend, James was unable to make noises that weren’t coughs, sniffles, or groans, let alone have a deep and meaningful conversation with (and don’t tell her he thought of her as such) the love of his life. He came down with a bug – a nasty one at that – which barely allowed him to breathe, let alone carry out the revenge plans he had for the two-day break.

            As he promised Sage, it had no violence. He hadn’t even needed to plan it, really, as the second he recapped (poorly) the story of Snape’s bullshit to the Marauders, they pulled out their prank-planning kits. Parchment covered in scribbled ideas and floor littered with various Zonko’s products, they had a nice throwback to their younger years (the ‘glory days,’ as they called them. It should be noted that these days were, in fact, about two years ago or less). Motivated with James’ tale of Sage’s heroism (“she defended my very name in the face of my greatest enemy!”), subsequent injury (“and evil Snivellus had no issue in slashing her right across the chest and once more upon her stomach!”), and Snape’s betrayal (“and not only did this evil, horrid, greasy termite harm the love of my life—” it should be mentioned, once more, this title should not be repeated around Sage. Also, as James went on, here, his tone went from ‘dramatic arse in the year 1500’ to ‘regular, angry James’— “he fucking hinted to her Remus’ furry little problem! He was the reason she figured it out!”), the boys came up with a master plan.

            A plan so beautiful it made grown men weep tears of joy. So brilliant it boggled the minds of the greatest scientists and scholars the world had ever known. So ingenious it would never be recreated. Something that could only be done if all four of them put in all their effort, and only could occur that weekend, as that was when it was planned around – the class schedules, the weather, the stage in the migration cycle geese were at... Something that fell through because a bug ran through the school James’ immune system just _had_ to fucking battle.

            Saturday morning, he lay in bed, coughing up a lung, and tried to claim (though he could hardly speak) he was “to—” a cough— “tally fine!” he then tried to sit up, but was unable, as Sirius placed his hand on his chest to hold him down (he didn’t have to use a whole lot of pressure to keep James from sitting up, as in his sick state, James lost almost all strength).

            Something came from him that was deciphered among the three other boys as meaning, “have to— get up… Sage… revenge… justice must be served…” His voice was so gone, hearing what he said was a serious challenge, so they just took the bits and pieces they got and ran with them.

            “James, mate,” said Remus, leaning over him with a soft and gentle voice, “you can’t get up, we can’t follow the plan – you’d die the second you got up on the rafters the first time. You might just die from _standing_. How do you think you’d fare when we need you on your broom for phase three?”

            “Yeah,” said Peter, leaning against one of James’ bedposts at the bed’s foot. “You’re too sick.”

            More sounds, and after a minute, they decided it meant something along the lines of, “fuck you guys, I’ll just suffer, we have to do this.”

            “We can do something next weekend! It’ll just be less elaborate and much more… socially acceptable, unfortunately.” Sirius took his hand from James’ chest, eyeing the Potter boy to ensure he wouldn’t try to get up again. “No more stuffed animals full of confetti, unfortunately. And no more thongs. Fuck, this really is a tragedy.”

            Another noise.

            “What was that? Ugh, I don’t know.” Sirius rolled his eyes, “‘the love of my life (don’t make me repeat myself) is… what? Oh, you’re going to Hogsmeade next weekend? Ah, yeah, you were, weren’t you? Last trip before break. Hope you’ll be better by then… wow, that was an angry noise, calm down, Prongsie, you’ll probably get over it soon.”

            “Yeah, and to get over it, you need to sleep – so sleep.” Peter crossed his arms as James huffed.

            “I think he wants us to do something in the meantime,” said Sirius, a grin breaking out onto his face.

            “Well, who are we to deny the wishes of a poor, ill man?”

            “That’d just be cruel, Padfoot!”

            “Don’t worry, James, we’ll make you proud, even with the poor advanced planning.”

 

            There was a commotion in the Hufflepuff Common Room Thursday morning. Sage and Wendy, still half asleep, stopped on their way out to the Great Hall to see what was going on. People gathered around an armchair, talking in hushed voices. As the girls approached to ask what was going on, a voice from the inside of the circle of people commanded them all to “back off!”

            Sage and Wendy stood, watching as the people dispersed, talking quietly amongst themselves. Wendy turned to Hanna Salt, a sixth year who was walking away from the crowd, and asked, “what’s going on?”

            “It’s terrible,” she told them in a soft voice, wringing her hands and glancing back at where the people had been, where they could now see only three people surrounding a crying girl in an armchair. “Nikita McGregor-- 5th year-- she’s just gotten back from Dumbledore’s office. People are saying her brother’s… _you know_ … and it’s Death Eaters that’ve done it.”

            As Sage and Wendy shared a look, tense, Hanna continued walking, shaking her head sadly.

            Neither girl said anything as they grabbed each other's hands and giving reassuring squeezes, heading out of the common room to get breakfast. Sage gave another look to Nikita and tried not to imagine herself in the girl’s shoes before leaving.

            They were silent as they made their way to the Great Hall, and when they found their seats at the Hufflepuff table, it was hard to ignore the change in mood. Usually, the Hufflepuff table was warm and friendly. That day, it seemed like all the Hufflepuffs knew of the news and were shaken by it. It was something horrible and hit so close to home – one of their own had lost someone…

            The war had worsened over the summer and was still doing so as Autumn faded. It was so bad that many students’ families didn’t think Hogwarts safe enough – the Hufflepuff seventh-years were down a student, as his parents pulled him out, believing him safer closer to home. The school’s number had taken a cut, sure, as parents feared for safety, but still, Hogwarts remained. And, as Wendy said to Sage thousands of times, “what were they thinking? The attacks are usually on homes – and Hogwarts is the safest place in the world!”

            Safe from outsiders, sure. But when evil came from those within their number, those inside the hallowed walls… but the true battle of Hogwarts wasn’t to come for many years.

            “Can you pass me the jam?” asked one fifth-year student, somehow phrasing the question sadly. Wendy snapped to attention as she realized _she_ was the one closest to the jam, grabbed it, and slid it down the table into the fifth-year’s hand. “Thanks.”

            There was a hand placed onto Sage’s shoulder very suddenly she did not expect that made her jump. The owner of the hand pulled it away, chuckled, and apologized before he slid onto the bench next to Sage.

            “I’m not even going to mention how this isn’t your table, James, as I know you don’t care.”

            “I’m glad you finally learned this, Sage.” James reached forward, grabbed a grape, and as he popped it into his mouth, he made eye contact with the fifth-year Wendy gave the jam to and winked. The fifth-year almost swooned (who could blame them? James was a major fucking hottie). “Plus, I’m here on official Head Boy business.”

            “And what official Head Boy business involves you stealing a seat and grapes from the Hufflepuffs?” Sage squinted at James playfully, nudging him with her elbow, their knees brushing together.

            “The personal, official Head Boy business!” he said, swallowing another grape. Less than a second later he had his arm around Sage and mouth on hers, full-on snogging her. It took him a minute to pull away, and when he did, Wendy rolled her eyes for the fifth time since he sat down and took a bite of her eggs before she commented.

            “Is the official Head Boy business that you have to snog Sage?”

            “Wendy, hush.” Sage reached over to pathetically swat at Wendy. Wendy rolled her eyes again and swatted Sage’s hand away, causing the girl to turn and face her for a mere moment, pout, and turn back to James.

            “It just so happens that—”

            “Mister Potter, I do believe you must be lost.” The stern voice of Minerva McGonagall came from behind them all suddenly, making them all turn around, worried. “And I don’t think Ms. Charles has directions for you on her tongue.”

            “Ah, Minnie,” said James, turning on the charm. “We were just discussing this – I have Head Boy business here. See, just then, we were having a serious discussion about matters totally professional, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

            As McGonagall’s eyebrow rose, Sage swooped in to save the day (not really). “Exactly. We were having a professional discussion on… the state of the Prefect’s bathroom. Since I am Quidditch Captain, I can access it, as you know. We had just finished talking about the lovely marble floors, and we were shifting our focus to the Quidditch schedule for this coming year. Totally professional.”

            “Exactly, Professor, I was reminding Sage her next game was against us Gryffindors, so I can be sure her team puts up a good fight and we win fair-and-square.” James winked at the open-mouthed Sage who tried to hide her smile, mock offence all over her face.

            “I see,” said McGonagall monotonously, her facial expression telling them she was not in any way amused. “Well, then, you must be settled with your business at the Hufflepuff table, yes?”

            James sighed, grinning, and turned around, still sitting on the bench with his feet on the outside so he could stand. McGonagall gestured for him to do so, but before he did, he leaned forward and kissed Sage again, this time just a quick peck, before he stood. McGonagall guided him away, but before he was too far, he looked back.

            “Hogsmeade! Don’t forget!” he said, only a few steps away. Sage rolled her eyes and laughed.

            “I won’t!” And with that, she turned back to her breakfast and her friends, grinning and glowing. It took her a second to remember the vibe of the table before he sat down, but when she did, she was glad to note it had changed. James made her happy, and her being happy made Wendy happy, and the fifth-year was happy because _holy shit a cute boy winked at me_ , and their happiness spread. It didn’t do too much, as the upset was caused by war, but it did serve to make things better, if just a little.


	26. Twenty-Six

            Sage woke up on that December morning wrapped up in a cocoon made of her blankets and did not want to go anywhere. Screw James, fuck the date, all she wanted to do was drift back off into dreamland where she never got homework and the trees were made of cookies and the rivers of fudge (did she go to bed without dessert the previous night? Perhaps).

            She closed her eyes, pulling the blankets around her tighter. The chilly air touching her face was combated by the heat she was keeping trapped close to her underneath the knitted rectangles of happiness. Her soft blankets touching her skin and head resting on her cloud-like pillow, Sage took in a deep breath and was about to allow the heavy feeling of sleep overtake her when Wendy spoke.

            “You know you’ve got to get up at some point, right?” From one of the armchairs in their room, Wendy looked up from her book (it was surely very good, unlike what Sage had been reading, which was about a superhuman whose power was to summon inedible fruit).

            A long, loud groan came from the mess of blankets on Sage’s bed. Wendy rolled her eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall opposite her.

            “You’ve only got about twenty minutes left,” said Wendy, crossing her legs. There was a bit of a shuffle in the blankets before another, shorter groan was heard. “Just imagine, poor James standing there, waiting for you, but you’re too busy sleeping.”

            “Sounds pretty good to me,” Sage scoffed, voice muffled mildly.

            “Maybe _for_ you. But what about James? Poor, poor James, thinking he’s been stood up. I can see him now.” Wendy taunted Sage, who was imagining her boyfriend with a truly sad look on his face. The hopelessness in his eyes, the mild frown, the furrowed brow as he checked his watch for the thirtieth time, wondering if she was okay, if he’d done something wrong… Sage groaned once more before forcing herself out of bed. Wendy let out a quiet cheer as Sage looked back at her blankets longingly.

            With a sigh, Sage began. Rushing to get ready in time, she dug through her clothes, throwing a pair of jeans on her bed. Searching through her sweaters, Sage noticed a familiar scarlet and gold fabric. She pulled it out, then grinned - James’ Quidditch sweater! She almost forgot about it. It seemed like an eternity ago when he had given it to her, but upon thinking about it, she remembered it had only been a year.

            With soft eyes, she brushed her fingers against the fabric faintly before she threw it onto her bed with the jeans and hurried to dress and otherwise get ready. Minutes later, she grabbed her coat and other various winter clothes and rushed to shove the sweater into her high-waisted pants somewhat, letting it hang out loosely.

            “Alright!” Sage was now fully energized as she took steps toward the door, running a hand through her hair as she looked at Wendy. “I’ll see you later.”

            “Be safe!” Wendy watched Sage opened the door, her book in her hands. “Have fun!” Sage looked back with a smile, closed the door behind her, and hurried to the common room and out into the Kitchen Corridor.

            James was waiting for her just next to the door to the Kitchen, leaning against the wall, his coat in his arms. Sage approached, causing him to kick off the wall and smile at her, grinning when he recognized the sweater she wore. After telling her how much he loved her representing his house (as she told him, “you’d better – as Hufflepuff’s captain, this is basically betrayal.”), he brought up a hand to brush a piece of hair out of her face. They gave each other soft, loving looks just before Sage grabbed hold of his collar and yanked his lips onto hers.

            “You taste like peppermint,” said James after they pulled away just enough to breathe, lips grazing hers.

            “You taste like…” Sage pulled away more to think, looking away from him into the distance as she tried to find the right word. “…mouth.”

            James made very severe and confused, weirded-out eye contact for a long second before he threw his head back in laughter. Sage grinned as she watched his eyes crinkle up and shoulders shake slightly. It was a true laugh, and made her start to giggle, her grip on his collar loosening.

            When he calmed, he looked at her again just before their mouths connected again. They kissed slowly and passionately – a manner that made them want to keep snogging and not actually go out anywhere.

            But, as they pulled away, they intertwined their hands and left. Despite the cold, they made the walk a good thing. With the snow falling around them and the crunching underfoot, they huddled together to keep warm, talking the entire time they walked (mainly shitty jokes) and arrived at the town with grins on their glowing faces.

            Sage dragged James all over Hogsmeade. She’d seen it all before, but now, with him, it was all brand new and totally different. Better, perhaps. The whole time, her heart was aflutter as she laughed at all his jokes and watched his different mannerisms, studying him harder than she did her actual schoolwork.

            He brought her into Zonko’s (“it’s my favourite, we _have_ to stop by!”), which aside from being a sweet gesture (he wanted to share the things he liked with her! It was adorable, actually.), made her think of when they had run through the rain together, feeling their youth. When they reached the Shrieking Shack, all Sage could remember was their first kiss, where she felt her life in her veins.

            But, after being outside so long, the two of them were freezing, and decided there was no better way to solve this issue than a hot butterbeer from Three Broomsticks. Bursting into the pub, they shook snow off themselves and removed their outerwear, taking a seat as James greeted the barmaid Rosmerta with a grin.

            Rosmerta, who had figured they were on a date, brought them their drinks, telling them to enjoy before walking off to do her job. Occasionally, she glanced over at the two of them with a smile - she really liked James (whenever he and his practical-brother Sirius Black came in, they were always a riot) and was happy to see him so happy.

            “You don’t think so?” James took a sip of his drink, the warm liquid bringing him peace.

            “I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure it’s impossible. I mean, unless you’ve got an impossible amount of wood at your disposal and have mastered the ability to control all the elements. Even then… I dunno.”

            “You’ve no hope.”

            “When it comes to things that are hopeless, yeah.” Sage shrugged, James huffing. “But anyways, how are things going with ‘James Potter, Troublemaker’? Is being Head Boy causing you to suffer?”

            “‘James Potter, Troublemaker’ is being murdered by ‘James Potter, Head Boy’.” James watched as Sage let out a laugh with soft eyes, heart light.

            He didn’t think, really, as he watched her take a sip, about anything but _telling her_. He wanted to, and for some reason, he hadn’t. And what better time than then? It was the truth, and he wanted her to know.

            So he said it.

            “I love you.”

            It was breathy and amazed and his words sounded like they were made from the air he exhaled as he said them.

            The only problem was the sharp inhale of breath Sage took upon hearing the words, a sign of her surprise. The problem there was that he said it just as she was taking a sip of her butterbeer, so the main thing she inhaled was not the expected air, but a liquid. She coughed instantly, keeling over with her face in her elbow as she recovered. It took a minute, and she was certainly red-faced when she looked at him again, attempting to at least seem chill.

            “I—er—you—” Sage said, voice shaky, hand on her chin, “me?”

            The Gryffindor, face hot, responded. “Yep. I love you.”

            “That—er, that’s cool,” Sage, freaking out, scolded herself mentally. _He told you he loved you and you respond with ‘that’s cool’?! You idiot, do something! Say something—oh, and now he’s giving you that look, and oh, fuck, those eyes—fuck, so gorgeous. It’s like he won the fucking genetics lottery. FUCKING MERLIN, SAGE, SAY SOMETHING!_

            Sage then made a noise with her mouth unlike any word in English. Closing her eyes, Sage held her face in her hands.

            “Wow, I’m the worst,” she whispered to herself. Something touched her arm, so she peeked between her fingers - James had his hand touching her skin just below her wrist, her sweater sleeves rolled up at her elbow. She looked from James’ hand to his face which gave her a warm look. After staring at him for a second, Sage said, “I love you too,” her voice soft.

            The look on James’ face was the best thing she’d ever seen. His lips broke out into a grin so bright Sage felt like she might go blind from looking at it, but she couldn’t help staring. His eyes revealed the relief and utter joy he felt on top of thousands of other emotions, all positive.

            “Fuck, Sage, I was getting worried for a second,” James let out a breath, relief pouring out of him. “I thought you weren’t going to say it—I mean, it would’ve been fine if you hadn’t, but, you know... anyway, _fuck,_ you make me so happy. How do you do that?”

            Sage blushed, waving her hand as if to say _“oh, stop!”_ \- something James ignored, grinning at her, his face hot and eyes wide, looking over her like a child seeing something magical - whether it be the beauty and vastness of space, the wonder of nature, or sparks flying across the dark night from a wand.

            “No, really!” For a second, James had seemed teasing, but turned breathless, speaking only out of awe. He rest his chin on his hands, elbows sitting on the table, holding up his head, looking like a love-stricken schoolboy. “You’re so... _much_. You’re like if all the stars in the galaxy smushed together and gained sentience or something. Like... when the sky is really blue, or when its stormy and you just want to stay in and do something cosy, or go outside and dance in the rain.”

            “James, you flirt,” said Sage, unable to look at him. Instead, she stared at the wooden bench she sat on, the edge of it, next to her thigh. Her face was red and she was feeling marvellously warm. Since when had he been so good with words? Sure, he was still no poet, but _nobody_ could hear someone so cute say such things to them and not feel like their insides were turning into hormonal, blushing goo.

            “You’re so _pretty_.” Another sigh, fluttery and in love. “And... _pretty_. I can’t remember words, suddenly, I don’t know.”

            A giggle escaped Sage, her smile causing dimples she didn’t know she had to appear as happiness made her feel as if she were floating.

            “I don’t know,” James repeated. “I just... _really_ love you. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now… but it just hasn’t been the right time, you know? Like the last time I wanted to say it as bad as I did just then was when we were talking about all that stuff on top of the Astronomy Tower—not _while_ we were talking, when we took the little break, you know?”

            Heart beating hard in her chest, Sage looked up at him slowly. Her eyes moved from the bench, to the table, to his elbows and up his arms, until she was looking at his face, her head still pointed down, sheepish.

            The goo that was her insides liquefied even further, so much so that she had to stop herself from actually swooning. She didn’t know what to do or what to say, but she knew the only thing stopping her from literally leaping off her seat towards him and kissing him with all the life she had in her was the table between them.

            “ _James_ ,” she said, lips tingling like they’d been freezing cold and suddenly reintroduced to warmth. At her saying of his name, James seemed to melt, holding his head up so he didn’t fall over from his body suddenly going limp. Suddenly, his torso had turned into a wet noodle, soft and wiggly.

            “Sage,” he managed, gulping. They were at a stalemate - neither of them knew what to do, and what they wanted to (nay, what they instinctually _had to_ ) do was prohibited by their being a table apart and in a public place, quite a distance from home.

            “I, er...” An awkward chuckle came from her as she broke their eye contact, glancing at her drink. “Butterbeer’s mostly gone,” she noted, nudging her pretty-full (a bit less than halfway) mug of liquid butterscotch.

            “Mine’s cold,” said James, not even glancing at his glass, let alone testing its temperature. If he had bothered to even pretend, he would’ve discovered the drink was, in fact, still quite warm.

            “Well, I’m not really thirsty anymore, so unless you want to get another drink...?”

            “No, no, I’m fine! My thirst has been totally quenched.” (It had _not_ been, not fully.)

            “Alright!” Sage clapped her hands together, “well, we’ve no reason to hang around here, have we?” (Let us be reminded they _did_ pay money for those drinks they were abandoning.)

            With a shake of his head, James sat up. His torso had turned back from being a noodle, though he did feel still soft on the inside.

            “No, I suppose we haven’t.” A look of total adoration flew between the two of them, both grinning wildly. “It’ll be cold out there, though. But I’m sure we’ll manage.”

            “We sure will, won’t we? Find a way to, er, keep warm.” Sage looked away from him, unable to stop smiling. “Anyways, we—let's go.”

            “Yep!” In a flash, James was standing, his things together, coat back on. The hand he held out for Sage was taken, only released for a second so she could slide her arm into her coat sleeve.

            The two of them made eye contact again and looked away hurriedly, faces heating up as they walked out of the crowded pub, thanking Rosmerta on their way out. James held the door open for Sage and moved behind her, his hand placed onto her lower back as he moved back in step with her. His touch, even through the layers of her coat, was electrifying, causing her back to arch.

            Huddling through the snow, they were alone, submerged in silence. Their steps were in time, bodies huddled together to keep warm.

 


	27. Twenty-Seven

            On 21st December, all the students who were to travel home for the holiday break gathered onto the Hogwarts Express, bound straight for London. Sage, who was happy to have a break from schoolwork and to see her brother, excitedly sat in a compartment with James and his mates, smile on her face.

            “You two aren’t going to end up snogging the whole ride there, right?” Sirius sat across from Sage, Remus beside him and Peter beside him.

            “Not the _whole_ time,” James plopped down beside Sage, placing his arm around her.

            “Yeah, I’m gunna go hang with Wendy and Diana and them for a while.” Sage looked up at James, smiling at him before turning back to Sirius. “Buuuttt, the minute I get back… no promises.”

            “Great,” Sirius deadpanned, looking at Remus. His face shifted and a smirk appeared on his face as he raised his eyebrows at the werewolf. “Mayb--”

            “No.”

            “Alrighty then.” Sirius turned away from Remus, running his hand through his long hair. Sage laughed, looking at James.

            “I think I might go try to find them now, actually,” Sage said, standing.

            “You sure?” After Sage nodded, James continued, “alright. Have fun.” He stretched out on the seat, watching Sage smile at him and leave the compartment.

            Sage walked down the corridor, smiling at a 5th-year Hufflepuff she knew, trying to figure out where the hell her friends were. Peeking into the different compartments as she went, the Hufflepuff enjoyed getting a little glimpse into everyone’s lives through what she could see through the window.

            There were some fourth years, seemingly having a heated debate. A trio of first years, excited to be home for the first time since they started at the magical school. She passed one compartment with a mixture of third, fourth, and fifth years so full she was surprised they had gotten the door closed. There was a pair of seventh years she recognized, both of them deeply engrossed in books.

            And there! She finally found the one with her friends. Wendy looked nice and relaxed, having a chill conversation with Diana, Cecil, and Amos. Sage opened the compartment door, greeted by her friends.

            “So glad you could stop sucking James’ face off enough to come pay us a visit, Sage,” Diana joked, elbowing Sage as she sat down next to her. Sage blushed, trying to ignore Amos’ gaze. It wasn’t tense between them anymore, but talking about her love life in front of him was… less than desirable. Especially when she wasn’t high (High Sage had no issues with PDA).

            “Ha ha, Diana.” Sage laughed sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the Gryffindor and swatting her arm away. “But how are you all? Doing well? Looking forward to break?”

            “For sure! I’ve been wanting to go home-- I told you about my sister’s baby, right?” Diana, excitedly clasping her hands together, grinned. Sage nodded happily, and to some, their conversation may have seemed trivial and boring, but they genuinely enjoyed it.

            And before long, Xan showed up, lugging along another Slytherin the year below who proved to be delightful company, offering banter to Xan’s never-ending sarcasm. It was a nice time, but before long, enough time had passed and Sage figured she should head back to see James. So she bade her friends goodbye for then and sent them a smile while she closed the door before she headed back down the train to the Marauders. As she walked, she looked out the windows and paid witness to the white snow covering everything and falling from the sky. It was incredibly calming and breathtakingly beautiful, and made her wish winter lasted a little longer – but only a little. She remembered the other parts of winter that weren’t the tranquil lovely parts and was glad it was shorter. If only snow wasn’t so fucking cold.

            She opened the door to the Marauders’ compartment to a heated discussion among three of four boys. Remus, who wished for nothing more in the moment than the ability to fucking sleep, did not participate in the debate over who might win the next Quidditch world cup.

            “It’s obviously going to be Bulgaria - hey Sage - did you not hear about their last game?” Sirius glanced at Sage for a second before he went right back to talking. Sage smiled and took the seat between the window and James.

            “I still say Brazil.” James stopped talking for a second to kiss Sage on the forehead.

            “Okay, if none of you are going to mention Australia, then I’m just not going to participate in this,” said Sage, leaning back. She was true to her word, because as Sirius mentioned Bulgaria again, she checked out of the debate. Instead, she looked at things – the landscape rolling by, the white coating on everything, and the boy in front of her who still just wanted to sleep. Remus rubbed his eye, and Sage watched him do so through the reflection on the glass as she remembered something.

            “The full moon’s on Christmas this year, isn’t it?” She asked, picking at her nails.

            “Yeah,” he said, voice sad. Sage turned her head to get a better look at him. She didn’t know what to say, so she just looked at him for a second before she went back to staring out the window.

            “Peter, if Fiji so much as wins one game, I’ll be shocked.” The conversation continued beside her, causing Sage to roll her eyes and join in.

            “Fiji’s not _that_ bad, James. Be nice to them, they’re hosting.”

            “Thank you!” Peter grinned.

            “I mean, they’re not _good_ , but… they could win _a_ game.” At Sage’s words, both the boys narrowed her eyes at her. “The best bet is Australia, I’m telling you.”

            They kept talking about the Cup for a while, before Peter ran off to go use the bathroom, when James turned to Sage, smirking.

            “How do you feel about vandalism?” He asked, messing up his hair more. Sage looked at him wearily.

            “It can be beautiful,” she spoke slowly, elaborating, “when Wendy was in New York, she took pictures of some of the graffiti there. It was like… an art museum that wasn’t meant to be there, but it was beautiful nonetheless. But sometimes, it’s just bad. _Why do you ask_?” Staring at him suspiciously, Sage got the feeling James was not referring to the art Wendy had shown her.

            “Well, in first year, we all put our initials in this compartment,” James pointed up at the wall above and to the right of the window. Sage squinted, but was able to see where, written in faded crude handwriting, four sets of initials stood. She wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t pointed it out, as it was faded and hard to see, but when he did, she was surprised she hadn’t spotted it before then.

            “That’s why this is your compartment,” she smiled, looking back at him.

            “And, as you know, we have had many trials and tribulations over the many years we’ve spe--”

            “James, I swear, do not go into an hour-long speech just to show her that,” Sirius groaned, pointing at another place on the wall. Sage looked up at it, a spot to the left of the window, just below where the Marauder’s initials were.

            “Sirius, you fucking ruined it—"

            As the boys bickered, Sage inspected the markings. It was in better handwriting than the old ones, but it was still shaky, as if it were written while the train was in motion. There, surrounded by a heart, was ‘ _J.P. + S.C._ ’

            Sage stared at it, heart beating, smile making her face ache. Behind her, James was arguing with Sirius about ‘personal boundaries.’ She cut him off mid-sentence by grabbing his collar and slamming his mouth onto hers.

            “So, you like it?” James asked after he managed to pull away, eyes hopeful.

            “James Potter, you dork, I love it.”

            James grinned, heart feeling light. Sage, still gripping his collar, pulled him back onto her. Remus smiled at them warmly before looking at Sirius who was rolling his eyes, trying to act annoyed, but the smile on his face was giving him away.

            They sat there, together, sneaking occasional kisses (they weren’t very sly about it, though) and talking to James’ friends until the scenery outside became increasingly industrial, eventually turning into the inside of King’s Cross.

            The train slowed, coming to a stop, and the five of them got off the train. With her hand in James’, Sage found Wendy and gave her a goodbye hug, swearing to meet up over break. As her best friend left, Sage turned back to say goodbye to the Marauders. Remus had to hurry home (it seemed his mother had a pie in the oven), and Peter ran off to find his family.

            James and Sirius, who was staying with the Potters (he couldn’t be bothered to find his own place for only two weeks, and the place he lived in over summer, he rented out unofficially for just when he would be staying there, and was occupied over the whole of winter), were looking around, trying to find Euphemia and Fleamont when Sage spotted her brother rushing over to her.

            The grin spread on her face faltered when she noticed the cut on his face and the – quite subtle - limp he walked with. She let go of James’ hand in a heartbeat and rushed over to August.

            “What happened?” Her voice stern, Sage looked at the cut on his face closer.

            “Wow, Sage, it’s nice to see you, too.” August rolled his eyes before looking at her seriously. “I’m fine, Sage.”

            “Okay, later, you’re going to tell me exactly what happened,” Sage wagged her finger at him sternly. “But for now,” she embraced him, “I missed you!”

            He hugged her back, letting out a chuckle. “I missed you, too,” he said, pulling away. August glanced behind his sister at the boys she had abandoned.

            “So,” said August, walking up to James, “I hear you and Sage are… a thing now.” Beside him, Sage groaned, face in her hands.

            “Er… yea,” James stammered, watching Sage peek out from behind her fingers. “We are.”

            “August—" Sage started, putting her hands down as her brother shushed her.

            “I just want to know what your intentions are, that’s all.” August ignored his sister’s whines, staring down James.

            “Er, I intend to date her,” James looked to Sage for help, but all she gave him was a distressed look.

            August narrowed his eyes at the boy, looking him up and down in a way that made James feel like his soul was being judged. The man’s green eyes travelled back up to James’ face, the eye contact making James gulp just as August began to laugh.

            “August, I swear—" Sage scolded her brother who was recovering from the fit, glaring at him as he looked at James with kinder eyes. “He doesn’t know you’re joking!”

            “I’m just messing with you. I trust Sage to make her own relationships; I’ve taught her well.” August wrapped his arm around his sister, ignoring her protests. “I don’t really know how to deal with romantic relationships, but I do know how to scare someone.”

            “Ha ha, that’s funny,” said James in a way that made it obvious he did not find it, in any way, shape, or form, funny.

            “Oi, James!” Sirius shouted from behind the Gryffindor, making him turn around. He spotted his parents immediately, and his face broke out into a grin.

            After James greeted his parents, he turned back to see Sage inspecting her brother’s cut as he rolled his eyes. She looked away from her brother and back at James, smiling when she saw him.

            “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Potter,” Sage said politely, standing beside James. “It’s lovely to see you again.” Sage glanced at James to see him grinning at her, making her elbow him lightly.

            “Lovely to see you as well,” Euphemia smiled at the Hufflepuff.

            “I’ll see you later, James Potter,” Sage turned to him, blush on her face.

            “Soon, I’m sure,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes. James glared at him, turning back to Sage and staring deep into her emerald eyes.

            “Soon,” James repeated, letting out a wistful sigh. Sage, still blushing, hugged him tightly, breathing in his familiar scent. When they pulled away, he kissed the top of her head gently, making her feel a rush of comfort.

            Sage wanted to snog him for a bit before they parted ways, but knowing August and James’ parents were watching, she held herself back. Although for some reason the only thing she could think about was the way his fing— nevermind.

            “I’ll miss you,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes. James let out a deep sigh, resting his forehead on hers.

            They broke away, gave each other sweet looks, and parted ways, shouting after each other promises to meet before long.

 

            Christmas in Fromont was magical. Not as magical as Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, as there were some muggles mulling about, but there was magic in the air. The way the lights were placed just right, the way the air smelled like vanilla and chocolate, and the way the snow fell, covering the whole town in a cold blanket, all came together to make a beautiful holiday season.

            Sage was disappointed, of course, that she couldn’t play in her garden, but she got over it quickly when she saw how August had decorated the cottage. It was somehow cuter, which she hadn’t thought possible, with lights strung around it and a wreath on the door.

            And the inside of their humble abode smelled like cinnamon, with lights around the living room and little patches of green plants all over. Sage felt as if she was floating through a dream. The edges of reality seemed a bit blurred, strangely, as if she was already looking back at what was happening as a memory.

            As it turned out, playing in the garden _was_ possible, but instead of working with the soil and the plants it nurtured, Sage was balling up snow to chuck at her brother. By Christmas, they’d already had about 10 snowball fights, and in the front yard were two snowpeople - one for August, and one for Sage. (Sage wouldn’t say it, but hers was totally better than his, though she did like his more.)

            Christmas Day was just as magical, although the ending spoiled it a bit. Sage and August had an argument about something dumb, and as they were both quite stubborn people, they had a hard time working it out. So Christmas night, Sage lay in her bed thinking about the conflict between them, until she turned and faced her window. Outside, shining brightly and beautifully, was the moon in full. Sage hoped Remus had a nice Christmas, even if it was a bit of a pipe dream, and she knew in her heart he did not. The next morning, the first thing she did was apologize to August.

            It was 3 days after Christmas when she found out. The conversation started simply enough, Sage sitting on the window seat, a book in her lap, as August lay stretched out on the couch, listening to the music filling the room.

            “How is work at the cafe going?” She asked, looking over at her brother. “I forgot to ask you about it. Is Madame Herie doing okay?”

            August sat up, looking at her with pursed lips. “I… I’ve stopped working at the cafe.”

            “What?” Sage closed her book after marking her spot, placing it down and swinging her legs so her feet touched the floor. “Did something happen? Was it those Death Eaters? Did they show up again?”

            “No, no, everything’s fine. I—er, well, you already know about the Death Eaters and how they were using it as a subtle meeting place,” August stood and began pacing around the room, Sage’s eyes glued on him. “I had overheard some of the things they had said. Something about an attack they were planning. I got… I got most of the details from their conversation.

            “I didn’t know what to do about it, who to talk to… it was a process, but eventually I ended up in Dumbledore’s Office—"

            “You were at Hogwarts?!” Sage sat up suddenly. He gave her a look to which she responded, “not the point. I get it. Carry on.”

            “It’s him and the Order of the Phoenix on the front lines with the fighting. So I told him all about the conversation, who the people were, what they were planning… everything. He thanked me, and just as I was about to leave, he stopped me and invited me to join the Order.” Sage watched her brother pace around the room, speechless. “He told me he always saw a potential in me-- top of my class at duelling and other spells, he called me ‘incredibly clever and cunning.’ He wanted me to fight with him.

            “He told me I might be fighting people I know, Slytherins who never got the pureblood mania out of their heads and were now fighting to make everyone see what they did. I didn’t care. I started working with the Order, soon after quitting my job - I still check in on Madame Herie, though, so don’t worry - now I’m spending most of my time working on fighting in the war.”

            Sage was speechless. It had never occurred to her— she wanted to fight in the war, too, but with her shit skill in wand-based magic… she’d die the first minute she got out there. But never had she imagined her brother might fight.

            It wasn’t like she didn’t think he could or thought he wasn’t willing, she just... had never thought he might be a part of such violence. Fighting in a war had a risk for death, and she seemed to think he couldn’t do that. Coming to terms with her own mortality was a difficult process that took most of her late teens to figure out, but coming to terms with the mortality of someone she loved was almost impossible.

            “I can’t…” Sage, at a loss for words, hurried over to her brother and engulfed him in a hug, feeling like she was six years old again and was selfishly refusing to let go of something she loved, like a comfort blanket she was too stubborn to give up.

            August said nothing and just hugged her back, a comforting hand rubbing her shoulder. She closed her eyes, focusing on her brother being with her then and there. His heart beating. His breathing. The heat from his body. His life, radiating from his body.

            “You better not die,” she mumbled from where she was pressed against his skin. A chuckle vibrated through his chest.

            “I’ll do everything I can to make sure I come back home.”   


            “So Wendy told me we should go see _Star Wars_. She saw it while she was in America and loved it, but it only just started showing here, so…” Sage, all decked out in winter gear, stood outside of a movie theatre with James Potter.

            “I still don’t really get ‘movies’, but if Wendy liked it, I’m open.” James smiled, looking at the poster.

            “She also said Sirius needs to watch ‘Rocky Horror Picture Show’. I dunno what it’s about, but she said he’d love it.” Sage rubbed her hands together, blowing on them for warmth. James smiled at her, grabbing her hands and pulling her along to buy the tickets (they had a bit of an issue with the money but got it sorted eventually) and inside the theatre.

            After the movie, Sage and James walked up the road to a cafe, whose lights were reflecting off the snow, bright in the dark of the night. They got drinks and sat at a table together, James talking excitedly about how much he loved the movie.

            Sage smiled as he spoke, taking a sip of her drink (she’d never had it before, but she’d already fallen in love with it) as she watched him fondly. He eventually settled down, the split second of silence enough to bring worry to Sage’s mind.

            “Are you okay?” James asked, reaching a hand across the table to grab hers. She gave him a sad smile.

            “It’s August. I’m worried about him.” Sage began to speak in a hushed tone, leaning forward. “He’s working with the Order. Been going out on missions-- it’s hard not to worry.”

            James looked at her, seemingly surprised. He asked, voice low, “he’s a part of the Order?” Upon seeing Sage nod, he continued. “Well-- er, what’s it like?”

            “James, don’t tell me you’re thinking of joining, too.” Sage gave him a stern look he ignored.

            “I mean, the Order of the Phoenix _is_ one of the most noble causes I’ve ever heard of... and I can’t lie-- I do want to support them, so...”

            “James! How did I not know about this?” Voice still hushed, Sage glared at her boyfriend.

            “I dunno, just hasn’t come up, really.” He looked away from her, scratching the back of his neck. Sage huffed. “It’s not like we talk about the war with each other very often.”

            “James Potter, you’re going to be the death of me.”

            James gave her a sheepish smile, continuing. “At the beginning of the year, I told McGonagall I didn’t want to be a Quidditch player anymore. She’s told me about a program the Ministry’s set up for students who want to work with the Order. And I’m looking into it. Marlene’s already signed herself up.”

            “But... James, playing was your dream,” said Sage, staring up at him.

            “Yeah, well, this is more important.” James looked back down at the drink in his hands. “If me giving up on my dream is what makes sure there’s a future where others get to pursue theirs... I don’t want this war to go on forever, and I even more don’t want those prejudiced pricks to win it.” Sage was watching him closely as he looked up again and their eyes met.

            “I don’t know what to say to that other than I understand.” Sage’s fingers tapped on her mug, “I can’t believe I didn’t know about the Ministry... August wouldn’t’ve told me…”

            Sage paused, taking in a breath and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I know what it’s like, wanting to fight. Every time any news comes out, looking at those reports of all the deaths... I hate not doing anything. Wendy tries to keep me from feeling too bad, but I take one look at her and I think about how one day, it could be her name I see in the paper, along with all the other muggleborns…”

            There was a moment where Sage closed her eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the worst. When her eyes opened again, they met James’. His hazel eyes looked at her with sadness. She looked down at her drink again.

            “I suppose when we graduate, we’ll be fighting. Doing what we can.”

            “You better not get hurt, James.”

            “Never. I’m too good for that,” James smirked at her. “I’ve already proved I’m better than them. You remember the motorcycle incident of last summer?”

            “I don’t think I will ever forget that for the rest of my life,” Sage said, shifting in her seat. She didn’t know what he was about to say, but she knew she probably wouldn’t like it.

            “Well, the two men chasing Sirius and I-- the ones on brooms? They were Death Eaters.”

            Sage said nothing, rubbing her eyes. A sigh escaped her lips as she imagined what might’ve happened. James was a bloody idiot.

            “James…” Her voice strained, Sage let out a breath.

            “I know, I know... dangerous, foolish, whatever... but you have to admit, I am the best at all things ever, including fighting those pricks.”

            “Wow, and you’re humble, too.”

            “I’m the whole package, Sage. You really lucked out.” James watched as she smiled softly and looked up at him, letting out an airy chuckle.

            “All jokes aside, I really did. You’re a great man, James.” Sage took his hand in hers. His eyes sparkling and grin wide, he ran his thumb over her knuckles. “A noble Gryffindor.”

            “And you’re my humble Hufflepuff,” said James, “who also has to promise she won’t get hurt.”

            “I’ll do everything I can. I’ve been trying to get better at duelling. I know there’s a part of me that can be good at it, because August’s so gifted in it.” Sage watched James’ spare hand grasp onto his drink.

            “Good,” he said, taking a sip. “I suppose we can’t really be too mad at each other for doing the same thing, can we?”

            “Suppose not.” Sage mirrored him, bringing her mug up to her lips and taking a nice, slow drink.

            “What’re we supposed to do? About this? There’s not exactly a class that teaches you how to deal with your loved ones putting themselves in danger.” James stared at her lips as she licked them, wiping off some whipped cream.

            “I dunno.” Sage looked up at him, “what else can we do but just be with those we love as much as we can?”

            James squeezed her hand and sent her a sad smile. Sage looked down at her empty mug and back at him. She wanted to lay with him in a dark room where the only thing she could hear was his breathing and study him as she held him close.

            So they left the cafe, huddling in the alleyway beside the building where they were alone, pulling their coats close to themselves to keep warm before they apparated to James room, where they soaked in every second with each other, laying on his bed and staring into the other’s soul.  


	28. Twenty-Eight

            Break ended too soon for everyone. Sage spent as much time as she could with August and gave him a heartfelt goodbye and well-wishes before she boarded the train back to school. The introduction back to near constant learning and studying after a period of laziness was less than desired, but she made do.

            It wasn’t long before Professor Sprout called Sage into her office (still nothing but a greenhouse) to discuss her future again. Sage surprised the woman when her answer to, “have you been thinking about what you might want to do?” was “I want to join the Order.” The Herbology Professor quickly recovered from her surprise, composed herself, and asked Sage for more detail. Sage left the meeting with an idea of how to begin her quest to join the Order and a newfound sense of purpose.

            School continued as it had, with Sage and the rest of the school focused on studying and finishing assignments. The amount of work being assigned to those taking their N.E.W.T.s was frustrating, to say the least. Although it was expected, it was not embraced.

            Soon, the only way anyone could find time to spend time together was if they were all working. Group study sessions were common, as the students often found they enjoyed their time together even though they mainly focused on school.

            These study sessions could be less than productive, as their young minds were easily distracted by interesting conversation topics. Studying with James was almost impossible for Sage, as he loved finding new ways to get her attention. New _unproductive_ ways. Still, she survived and had yet to fall back on her work.

 

            Since she learned of Remus’ ‘furry little problem,’ Sage had kept a close eye on the phases of the moon (and in the process improved her grade in Astronomy). In the days before and after the transformations, Sage would watch Remus from afar, wishing she could do something to help while she knew she could not. All she could do was offer him smiles and jokes. It didn’t do much, but she did feel better when she saw him smile back or laugh. He deserved to be happy.

            The morning after January’s full moon, Sage watched the Marauders walk into the Great Hall from her spot at her table and zoned out from the conversation she had been sharing with the girl across from her (she wasn’t very interesting, and she was telling her story to multiple people - Sage wouldn’t be too missed). They all looked as tired as they normally did, with Remus the worst.

            Peter walked at the front of the group, behind him Sirius, and James and Remus at the rear, whispering to each other. James and Remus weren’t having a casual conversation but an argument - a heated one. They weren’t motivated by anger like a usual argument, but spoke with emotion (in Remus’ case, anger was present, but it was purely towards himself). James said something, hissed under his breath - a warning. Remus responded sharply, and James responded by sticking out his finger and waggling it slightly in an obvious scolding manner. Remus’ face turned guilty, and he tried to get in words - an apology, perhaps.

            Sage watched with her lower lip between her teeth as they all sat down, her eyes on James and Remus, who continued to whisper. James sat slowly and as he did so, his left hand moved up to his ribs on his right side. Remus, working himself up, said something else, then quieted suddenly, holding his head as if he had suddenly gotten a headache.

            The Hufflepuff stared over at them with a furrowed brow for a few seconds before she turned back to her friends’ conversation, moving to listen to the girl across from her who continued her story. Sage nodded along at her, pretending to be very interested in the boring tale.

            “Oh, wow, Jean,” Sage gave a pained smile, watching as Jean grinned. Rubbing her eye, Sage zoned out, staring into the distance with a blank look. Jean continued, unbothered. Sage was deep in thought, occasionally popping a grape in her mouth, unable to stop thinking about Remus and his _issue_.

            She later discovered why he was so guilty that morning and why James had been holding his side. James got hurt - badly, worse than usual - enough so there was still a deep cut on his ribcage, as spells could only do so much.

            Remus was overcome with remorse. Instead of recovering as he usually did, he spiralled - torturing himself. He refused to allow himself to recover because he truly believed he did not deserve to.

            There was guilt with every transformation, but this was different. Seeing the long-lasting scratches on his friends made his heart heavy, weighed down by the regret he had over letting his friends put themselves in danger. As he would watch them heal the wounds he gave them, he would remember exactly how much of a monster he was.

            But when they dragged James away from him, dark liquid coming from a slice on his side, Remus wished he wasn’t friends with them. As Sirius waved a wand over James, the cut healed as much as it could and Remus imagined the past - _his_ past - differently. If he had never befriended them, all those years ago, they wouldn’t follow him, and therefore would never put themselves in such danger. Remus knew the only way they wouldn't go to the ends of the earth with him was if this fantasy was a reality, and the Marauders, as they were, did not exist - if they were never friends.

            A part of him shivered at the thought of who he would be without them. He saw, in this fantasy that, unlike others, was not something of hope and of dreams, but a sad path, a ‘could’ve been’ and a nightmare, an eleven-year-old version of himself who did not meet the light those three could bring to a person’s life. He saw, flashed forward, another fake self, his reflection the same underneath, but his face covered in scars, deeper than his own and more plentiful, his eyes darker and his lips unsmiling. He looked at his false seventeen-year-old self who did not know what it was like to laugh unchained. This self, he imagined, did something different. In his youth, he was not so desperate to have friends - he did not ignore the bullying, he was not so fierce in his frantic attempts to find friends, people who liked him or at least didn’t hate him. This self did what real Remus feared - what caused him to burrow into himself, to stay quiet, stay polite, keep his true self secret - and thus, every month, he was in the Shrieking Shack, alone.  

            There was nobody there to crack dumb jokes to lighten the mood as they sat on the wooden floor, waiting for what was to come. Nobody to hold his hand as he transformed. Nobody to stop his wolf-self from trying his damndest to do as much damage to himself as it could.

            But he was there, sitting by himself on the same wooden floor, staring into the dark - alone with his thoughts. His only visitor and  his only company would be the wolf. But as he suffered, James, Sirius, and Peter stay asleep in their beds in the castle. Safe.

            This false Remus never had James in front of him with a wound Sirius could only do so much for, and he never watched the bandage they wrapped around James’ torso slowly stain red as they left.

            No matter how many times Remus - real Remus - tried to apologize and make it up to him, James refused to forgive him. According to James, there was nothing _to_ forgive. Remus had done no wrong. But as Remus watched James wince as he walked or moved certain ways, he still tried to express how sorry he was.

            “I can’t-- I’m so sorry, Prongs,” Remus would say. It would usually be followed with whispers to himself about how much of a monster he was. James would scold him and go off (for quite a while) about how he was anything but.

            When Sage saw the cut, she kissed James’ forehead and pulled his shirt back down. It wasn’t sexual, just a caring moment between them where Sage noticed him wince and asked if it was healing okay. James responded by reaching to pull up his shirt to show her. She then placed his head on her shoulder and ran her hand through his hair lovingly as she read from her Herbology book to him (he wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying. He just listened to her voice, as it summoned a rushing wave of calm to wash over him).

            Sirius, Peter, and Remus came into the Common Room not long after. At the head of the group (the tip of the triangle, if you will), Sirius slowed to a stop when he saw James and Sage and a smile wormed onto his face. Behind him, Peter quieted and stopped, then he and Remus came to a halt beside Sirius.

            On a couch, laying together, were James and Sage. James, arms around her, laid his head on her chest like she was a pillow, his eyes closed happily. She used a hand to hold up her Herbology book, and the other massaged his scalp, her arm wrapped around him. She was speaking softly, reciting the passage from the book about how to deal with adolescent mandrakes.

            “He looks like he might as well be purring,” said Peter quietly. Sirius snorted.

            “We should leave them.” Remus watched as James’ eyes fluttered open, his head moving so he could look up at Sage. He said something the boys couldn’t hear but made her stop reading and laugh softly for a second, her eyes closing and a wide smile breaking out on her face. She said something back to made him grin and reposition his head, but seconds after, she pretended to scold him and kept reading.

            “You know what would be perfect?” A soft voice came from behind the three boys, belonging to Lily Evans, a kind smile on her face as she looked at the two on the couch sweetly. “A camera. This would make such a sweet picture - a romantic candid.”

            “You don’t happen to have a camera on you, Evans?” Sirius glanced back at Sage and James, who were in their own little world.

            “No,” Lily frowned. Her eyes narrowed before widening, “oh! But I think Marlene might have hers! Hold on.” Lily rushed off, hurrying up the stairs to the girls’ dorms.

            The boys watched her vanish before they turned to each other, sharing a look. Remus looked over at Sage and James, a small smile on his face as he watched James’ eyes close happily again as Sage’s fingers continued to massage his scalp. He really was turning into a cat.

            It wasn’t long before Lily came running back down, a camera in her hands and a grin on her face. She held the camera up as she found the perfect place to stand.

            _Click!_ A flash caused Sage to look away from her book and stop reading before she quickly noticed Lily and the other boys. James’ eyes opened as her fingers stopped, and it didn’t take him long to notice their audience as well. He sat up a bit, watching with Sage as Lily lowered the camera. Sage closed the book with a finger keeping her place and laid it on her lap as she narrowed her eyes at the redhead.

            “Candids are the most beautiful pictures.” Lily smiled, stepping closer to the boys. “I’ll be sure you get a copy once it’s developed.”

            “...creepy,” James said, rubbing his eye.

            “That’s what you two get for being so lovey-dovey in the common room,” said Peter.

            Lily rolled her eyes, “I’d better go give this back to Marlene.” She began to walk away but turned back as she reached the mahogany staircase. With one hand on the bannister, she addressed Sage and James with a smile. “You two really are too cute. Not as cute as Marlene and me, but… a competitor, for sure.”

            As Lily headed up the stairs, Sage flushed and looked at the boys, narrowing her eyes at them. “How long have you lot been standing there?”

            “Ah, don’t worry, we only got here two minutes ago.” Sirius waved her off while plopping down onto an armchair and placing his bag on the floor. Sage said nothing but shared a look with James.

            “I’m changing the subject,” said Peter. He watched as Remus took the other armchair beside the couch, leaving him to either join the couple on the couch or sit on the floor. With a sigh, he put his bag on the ground and cursed Remus in his head. At least, he supposed, there was a rug under him. “Have either of you figured out what the hell Flitwick wants the essay he assigned yesterday to be about?”

            “Nope. He made it seem as if it was about banishing spells, but it can’t be - those are a fourth year level, and there’s no way it’s going to be that easy.” Sage let out a heavy sigh as she removed her hand from James’ hair to rub his back softly.

            “I thought it might be about--” Remus began, but he cut himself off as he watched James try to sit up more and wince, obviously because of the cut on his side.

            “You alright?” Sage asked, sitting up as well. James nodded, his hand caressing his side.

            “Yeah, ‘m fine.” He gave a forced smile and Remus felt another wave of guilt wash over him.

            “Pro--” Remus began, only to be stopped by James, who gave him a harsh look.

            “Moony, I swear--” James quieted as a group of second-years walked by the couch, as he had been about to use many words they shouldn’t hear. He scolded Remus as much as he could, though, using his eyes and facial expression to convey his feelings. Sage watched this interaction, paying close attention to the regretful look in Remus’ eyes.

            “Prongs, you know I--”

            “ _Remus_.” James’ voice was stern. The hardness of it made Remus go quiet and look at the ground.

            Sage looked at the werewolf sadly. She wanted to say something, but what? She didn’t have any practice on how to handle this kind of situation. The Hogwarts Library didn’t have any books to help her figure it out. There was no book titled ‘ _So You’re Friends With A Werewolf’_ readily available for her to check out and study. All she could do was say things she hoped would make him feel better.

            “You’re not a bad man, Remus. Quite the opposite. And I know you don’t believe me, and I don’t know what to say to change your mind, but... you are. You’re better than you know. Better than you believe.” Sage spoke softly, their eyes meeting as he glanced up from the floor, his shoulders still slouched. “And I know I say it a lot, but all I can hope is one day, you’ll agree with me.”

            _But it’s not true_ , he wanted to say. He wanted to argue back at her, to tell her how wrong she was. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Sage was so kind to him. She was trying so hard to make him feel better that to tell her it wasn’t working would be cruel. He wanted her to stay hopeful. Let her think he was a good person, let her still see the good in him - she was the kind to see positivity in everyone, no matter how deeply it was hidden. But he knew if she looked even a little deeper, all she’d see was darkness. At the core, all there was to see was a moon, a wolf, a child, and a bite.

            He stayed silent, looking at the floor. Nobody spoke for a few seconds, surrounded by a cloud of something grey they could only feel.

            “Oh!” Peter jolted up with eyes wide. “What if it’s about Patronus Charms? You know-- the Charms essay!”

            Sage and Sirius let out sounds of recognition and agreement, identical “ooohhhh”s.

            “That makes sense,” Sage said, her eyes flickering over Remus again before going back to focus on Peter. “But those are _beyond_ N.E.W.T. level... maybe he’s having us write an essay so we’ll be aware of what it is?”

            “Yeah, probably. I mean, it is extremely advanced.” Remus sat up, adding to the conversation although he wanted to stay silent. “Although some may be able to cast it, I’m sure, it’s much more fair to just have everyone write an essay instead.”

            Sage had a sudden flashback - when she was younger, someone told her quite rudely after she’d expressed her interest in the spell that she’d never be able to cast it. Young-Sage, who had previously not cared whether or not she could do it (she purely thought it was an interesting spell), was _determined_ to do so. Full of spite and feeling like a true hard-working Hufflepuff, Sage had spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to learn the spell. She hung out near a wall of the Hufflepuff Common Room where she wasn’t really bothering anyone too much and attempted the charm too many times to count.

            It was interesting to the rest of her house for a while. Upperclassmen watched with amusement as she huffed and tried the spell over and over again (“you planning on stopping anytime soon, Charles?” A then-sixth-year asked with a chuckle after Sage almost threw her wand across the room. “I’ll stop either when I’ve done it or when I’m dead, Lance!” Sage immediately brushed her hair out of her face and tried again). Soon, Sage Charles practicing the Patronus Charm was just something that happened in the common room.

            At some point, Sage took a deep breath in and closed her eyes, letting the room around her fade away, remembering her mother. It was in the time after her father had left but before she had died, when they still lived in the house Sage grew up in. Her mother, her laugh, the smell of their lilac bush… She said the incantation again and opened her eyes in time to see a sliver of something silver.

            She almost screamed. Luckily, she stayed quiet, staring at her wand as the silver faded away, eyes wide. Someone had noticed it, as well, and lead the common room to give her pats on the back and words of encouragement.

            A grin on her face, Sage tried the spell again, focusing as hard as she could on the memory and feeling the support around her. And she did it. A full-formed, corporeal Patronus sprung from the tip of her wand - a silvery badger pranced around the cheering common room.  

            Sage snapped back to reality when James shifted again. She glanced over at Remus, who spoke to Sirius about how to make sure the essay was really about the Patronus Charm before he wrote it.

            “If I write an essay about that fucking charm and find out it wasn’t supposed to be about it, I will tell Flitwick to fuck off and turn it in anyways.”

            “...Padfoot…” Remus gave a long sigh, pressing his palms into his eyes.

            “I don’t want to write it anyways, if I found out I wrote an essay and wasn’t supposed to, what does that make me? A _nerd_?!”

            “I mean, you didn’t _want_ to write it, so…” Peter chimed in from his spot on the floor. Remus sighed again, looking up at Sirius.

            “We can go ask him after dinner, Pads.”

            “You’ll have to tell me what he says,” said Sage, swinging her legs so she sat on the couch properly. “I don’t want to write the wrong essay either.”

            “Yeah, for sure,” Remus gave Sage a small smile, looking down at his bag. Sage grabbed hers from on the floor next to the couch and shoved her Herbology book into it.

            “I should head back,” she said, kissing James on his cheek. As she stood, James pouted, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back gently. Sage sat, rolling her eyes and looking over at him, letting out a chuckle when she saw his pout. He narrowed his eyes at her, glaring playfully before he connected their mouths in a kiss, gentle and sweet.

            “James…” Sage scolded once they broke apart, still inches from him.

            “Yeah, yeah.” James kissed her lips again before kissing her nose and releasing her. She looked at him with a smile, standing again.

            “Goodbye, all.” Sage grabbed her bag and headed out of the common room, waving back at the boys who sent her their various goodbyes.

            As soon as the portrait hole closed behind her, James let out a love-stricken sigh, falling back onto the couch dramatically, staring at the ceiling with a sparkle in his eye.

 


	29. Twenty-Nine

            The Hogwarts Library was too big. It was a tremendous resource _when you could fucking find what you were looking for_. When you couldn’t, it was just a major annoyance. Sage scanned the titles of the books in the Restricted Section, comparing them to the words on the scrap of parchment she held in her hands.

            A book about deadly potions, one with no title but stains on it which made Sage cringe, a title in characters from an alphabet she had never seen before, surely some long-forgotten language...

            Sage huffed, moving on to the next row down. She read another title, one for a book full of torturous curses, and thought to herself, _this school is fucking insane_. Her fingers brushed down spines, moving along as she read, coming over another book titled _Magical Crystals of Niger_ , one called _Unicorn Watching in the Middle East,_ 379 _North American Magical Herbs and Fungi_ …

            But where _the fuck_ was _1001 Dangerous Creatures, A Field Guide,_ the book she needed to finish her DADA homework? As she continued to read titles, Sage came upon _Deadly Magical Creatures_. Perhaps she could use this… it was close enough, right? Shrugging, she pulled it from the shelf and looked at the cover.

            A wolf stared back at her, drawn on the cover in black ink with bright red eyes. There was a subtitle at the bottom - _A Guide to the Wizarding World's Most Horrific Creations: Werewolves, Manticores, Nundus, and More._ Sage sighed. Her eyes moved to graze the shelves towering around her for a second before she decided she might as well use this book, as it would probably give her the same information she needed. Ultimately, it was the prospect of going back and looking at _more fucking books_ which caused her to just take the book she held back to where she had her things set up.

            The book was placed on the table with her other things and she sat, elbow moving to the table’s surface to support her chin she rest on her hand, using the other hand’s fingers to flip the book open. She landed on a random page, where a picture of a horrific creature made her eyes widen. She didn’t know what the fuck she was looking at, and she didn’t fucking care - she turned to _any other page_ so she wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.

            Another drawing stared back at her, not as disturbing as the last one (she _couldn’t stop thinking about it-- why did it have hands?_ ), but it made her frown for another reason. As far as she could tell, it was a detailed image showing the transition werewolves went through as they turned from human to wolf.

            It was drawn in a cycle, with words scribbled next to each stage to describe what happened, how it felt... it was horrible. Sage read, unable to keep her wide eyes off the text no matter how horrified she was.

 

    _The human bones snap out of place, causing excruciating pain to the afflicted... Bones rearrange, stretching skin and deforming the body, fur and claws begin to sprout. Subjects use claws to scratch at_ skin _, creating deeper and deeper cuts as the claws grow... Once the reformation is complete, bones and skin stretched and fur fully grown, the pain presumably ceases for the wolf, The person inside is trapped in a new body until the moon sets, when they will reform once more and have no recollection of being a wolf, just_ never ending _pain… pain from a transformation lingers after the human is reformed and comes back into control…_

 

            Sage’s hands moved of their own volition and the book slammed closed. She sat, staring at the cover with unblinking eyes. A sick feeling in her stomach grew as her mind imagined - imagined someone she didn’t know go through those things, skin stretching and claws growing to a soundtrack of screams. Suddenly, it wasn’t a stranger going through it - it was _her._ She imagined the pain, the unbearable feelings, aches, burning and stinging skin. Then, it was the person she knew went through this each month - Remus. Writhing atop dirt with an audience of trees looming over him - he was in the Forbidden Forrest - was Remus, a sliver of moonlight falling onto him through gaps in the blanket of leaves above.

            It wasn’t as if she had not known the transformation was terrible - she knew. But how terrible, how excruciating, and _exactly_ what happened...

            She stood quickly, snapping up and grabbing the book to shove it back into the shelf it came from.

            _Think about the terrifying leg creature, Sage… with its mouth and those teeth,_ she told herself. She was trying to distract herself, to give herself something else to think about, and remembered the first thing she saw when she opened the book. This worked in distracting her, but only for a second, and the distraction was nothing good - a shiver went down her spine as she remembered the leg creature. She hoped the drawing wasn’t too accurate - perhaps just an artist’s rendition of what was something less _horrifying_. Maybe it had less eyes, or its hands were more paw-like… she hoped it at least had a few fewer eyes and duller teeth.

            This was shitty, as now she was thinking about both the terrifying leg creature (she almost wanted to get the book out again just so she could see where it was from and stay as far away from those places as she could for the rest of her life) _and_ Remus.

            Attempting to preoccupy herself again, she went back to her search for _1001 Dangerous Creatures, A Field Guide_ , praying she would forget.

 

            The full moon came three days later, bringing with it a long night during which Sage was unable to sleep. She lay in her bed with heavy knitted blankets covering her, surrounded by their warmth and the dark of her room. Sounds of her sleeping roommates usually soothed her somewhat (thankfully, nobody snored), but on this night, it did nothing. Her eyes had not closed in hours and ached to be shut, but each time she blinked, they burned, so she kept them open, fixed onto the ceiling. Swirls decorated the surface above her, something she loved. It was like a mobile and calmed her. But now, it only made her dizzy.

            Sage did not know what time it was and couldn’t bring herself to care. On most sleepless nights, she watched the clock closely and told herself _‘if you pass out now, you’ll get three and a quarter hours of sleep_.’ Tonight, she knew it was hopeless - she would not be able to sleep at all, and there was no reason to give herself false ideas.

            Her eyes, aching to be closed, could see the window in their peripheral - a picture of the night sky. All she could see from her bed was a background of black tar dotted with infrequent and sparsely spread light. On the windowsill, plants grew, hiding some of the night from view.

            She didn’t mind not being able to see the moon. Before, she loved looking out at the beautiful celestial being and the way it lit up the sky, reflected off of the Black Lake, the mood it gave the night... but after learning of Remus’ condition, she no longer looked at the moon with wonder and awe. She looked at it angrily, cursing it and herself, as no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop thinking of it as beautiful.

            How could something so magnificent also cause such horrid things? In her mind’s eye, Sage imagined the moon sinking its claws into Remus’ chest and pulling out his soul. She really needed sleep. She would get none.

            Sage almost fell asleep while she was eating breakfast. Luckily, Wendy reacted quickly enough to save Sage from diving face-first into her oatmeal.

            “Did you even _try_ to sleep last night?” Wendy asked after shaking Sage awake again. “You were already tired, you’re going to die today.”

            Sage groaned, her eyes fluttering closed. It felt so nice, having them closed. Like she could just sit there and keep them closed, with the chaos around her turning fuzzy... Wendy shook her again, making her eyes snap open.

            “UGH.” Sage rubbed her eyes, “I’m going to die today.” Her voice was rough and sounded as tired as she felt. Yawning again, Sage squinted at her bowl in front of her, “ _what classes do I have today?_ ”

            “Oh, no, honey…” Wendy reached out, her voice sweet, and pulled Sage close to her, letting her lay her head on her chest, just below her neck. Shushing the annoyed groans Sage made, Wendy pet her head softly. “We’ve got DADA first off.”

            Sage let out another groan, “DADA’s so far away.” Wendy shushed her again, pulling her off her chest and pointing to the oatmeal Sage hadn’t eaten much of and telling her to keep eating. “I don’t even remember if I fucking finished the thing due today in DADA,” Sage said, shoving a spoonful of oatmeal in her mouth.

            “I think you did.” Wendy grabbed her cup and sipped at the apple juice inside “I mean, like, I don’t fucking know, but you probably did. If you didn’t, then... I dunno, hope you did.”

            “...what if I just…” Sage looked behind her at the stone floor. “Took a nap? Right there? Do you think I could? Or what about here, on the bench? Don’t even need to lay down, I’ll just fucking pass out right here, right now.”

            “Sage, you can’t do that. If we rush down to DADA, maybe you could take a nap there before class starts.”

            Sage squinted into the distance as if her brain was processing what Wendy said. She nodded firmly once, grabbed her bag, and stood. Wendy joined her somewhat reluctantly, following her out of the Hall. As they passed the Gryffindor table, Wendy waved to Diana, noticing how tired the Marauders looked.

            _The exams are taking the life out of all of us_ , Wendy thought, making eye contact with James who glanced at Sage, silently asking what was going on. Wendy shrugged before turning back to Sage who looked quite like a tired toddler and grabbing her hand to lead her away.

 

            The N.E.W.T. prep was getting harsher as the actual exams approached. With the little free time the 7th years got, they were either sleeping or trying to relax, in whatever way relaxing meant for them.

            For Wendy, this meant being a stereotypical teenage girl. Reading fashion magazines, listening to music, getting high and then dancing to music, spending time with friends-- all things she would do to unwind.

            For Sage, this meant either doing further research on duelling (which she actually found quite interesting. She was enjoying reading things; learning was so much more fun when it wasn’t for a grade) or taking whatever energy she had left and using it up out on the Quidditch field.

            Despite Wendy’s protests, Sage was practicing more and more. Wendy scolded her whenever she came back after being out too long and told her she needed more rest, not more work. Sage would roll her eyes and explain to Wendy for the thousandth time though it may not be rest, but being out there on her broom made her more relaxed than sleep ever could.

            “When I’m out there, up in the air, the breeze bringing a chill over me and rushing through my hair, and we start playing, I go into a state where nothing else matters and I just get to have a good time playing my favourite game.” Sage stared into the distance, holding her clasped hands close to her chest. Wendy sat on her bed, her copy of March’s _Vogue_ open in front of her, staring at Sage with narrowed eyes.

            “You need sleep,” said Wendy. Sage’s hands fell to her side as she looked at the girl.

            “That is, frankly, irrelevant, and I cannot believe you’re trying to use my sleep schedule against me when we both know if I was here instead of out practicing I would literally just be working on plays in our room.” Sage grabbed a sweater from her trunk and began to put it on as Wendy groaned. “We’ve got our game against Gryffindor coming up soon, and I’ve got to be ready.”

            “Ooh. It’ll be awkward, won’t it?” Wendy closed her magazine and lay down on her bed, resting her head at the foot of the bed.

            “What, playing against James when we’re dating?” Sage looked at Wendy in time to see her nod. Plopping down on her own bed and laying on her side so she could look at and talk to Wendy. “Most likely. But, I mean, it’s just a game.”

            “You’ve _met_ James before, correct? Because ‘it’s just a game’ sounds like something someone who didn’t know James would say.” Wendy shifted a bit, yawning. “You know how he is about Quidditch.”

            “Yeah…”

            “Not like you, where you’re fine with losing as long as you did your best. All rules will be out the window. James will forget how much he loves you for the duration of the game. You might as well be fucking Severus Snape. No mercy.”

 

            Saturday morning, Sage and her team walked down to the Great Hall with heads held high and smiles on their faces. They joked and laughed as they walked, all feeling the exciting buzz which hung around before they had a game.

            “And I turned it into a dog.” Amos Diggory’s story caused gasps and laughter from the team.

            “You did _not_!” Sunni Lance shoved his arm, making eye contact with Sage who was grinning.

            “I did! And she was so shocked - she fell straight back into the water!” The team erupted into laughter, nearing the entrance of the Great Hall. Sage stopped in her tracks, letting her laugh fade into a smile as she noticed the Gryffindor team approach the Hall as well.

            Link Dominic, the captain, glanced at her and her team before he nodded politely but harshly to Sage and continued on his way. Sage’s gaze shifted to James, who had his hands in his pockets. He took one out to cover his mouth as he yawned but shoved it back into his jeans.

            “James,” Sage broke away from her team who gave her _looks_ before making their way into the Hall. James turned to her, with sparkling eyes and messy-as-usual hair. The Gryffindor team watched the interaction closely, but tried to be subtle about it.

            “Hello, Sage.” James swallowed and looked at her suspiciously. Sage just grinned, ignoring the people watching them.

            “Good morning!” She gave him a wide smile, closing her eyes happily. “I just wanted to wish you good luck, then I’ve got to go eat. So, good luck!”

            James suppressed his feelings for her, looked her in her eyes and spoke dramatically in an attempt to be threatening (he just came off as cute).

            “We’re going to fucking demolish you all,” he said, causing Sage to roll her eyes.

            “And here I was thinking Sirius was dramatic,” she smiled at him before kissing him on the cheek, saying softly, “I still love you, though.”

            James, face hot, looked at the ground. “Love you too,” he mumbled, sounding not unlike a kid who was reluctantly responding to his mother in front of his friends, glancing at her with those hazel eyes she adored so much. Sage grinned as she stepped back, waving at him before jogging to catch up with her team, who were all sitting at the Hufflepuff table.

 

            “Hufflepuff captain Sage Charles rushes down the pitch-- oh, close call there, a narrowly avoided collision between Alex Bind and Kimi Bell…” Ray Palmer provided the Quidditch commentary in his usual spot, voice clear and loud. Wendy, from her seat in the stands, shouted out her support beside Diana, who was torn between cheering for her own house or cheering with her girlfriend. Ultimately, she just decided to cheer whenever and for whoever.

            “James Potter approaches Charles, this’ll be interesting, as the two of them have been an item for a bit now-- oh hush, Professor, it’s crucial information-- Charles is attempting to maneuver away from Potter, who follows closely... ooh, Mike Brown almost knocked Potter off his broom with that bludger… Potter is no longer on Charles’ tail, she’s approaching Gryffindor’s goalposts, Basket’s preparing to block the quaffle... Charles scores, Hufflepuff gets the first ten points of the game!”

            Sage pulled back to the center of the pitch, making eye contact with James, sending him a smile and a wink. He narrowed her eyes at her, unable to hide the smirk which crawled onto his face. The game continued, intense, and by the end of it, after Link caught the snitch and caused Gryffindor to win, the teams both touched the ground. Sage addressed her team quickly before she rushed over to James and kissed him passionately.

            His grin didn’t as he held her close to him, an arm around her waist. As she looked into his eyes, time came to a stop and her heart liquified. His eyes, those hazel pools she could drown in, were looking at her with such a dazzling, blissful emotion in them. She almost didn’t want to kiss him again just so she could keep staring into his eyes.

            “You were great, love,” James said, pecking her lips again. “But Gryffindor is the best, confirmed.”

            Sage rolled her eyes playfully, pulling away from him as much as she could with his arm still around her to keep her in place. James pouted as she was now a few inches farther away from her than he wanted her to be. So he leaned closer, looking into her shining green eyes.

            James stayed there for a second, arm around her, grinning, as he stared into her eyes. It was one of those moments where the rest of the world faded away, letting them totally focus on each other.

            It wasn’t too long before he kissed her again. A spark touched his lips and lingered, fading into an itch only helped by connecting their lips once more. Sage’s fingers went to the back of his neck, only moving once he released his strong hold on her, leaving his arm around her waist but allowing her to just stand beside him.

            As James was congratulated and spoke to his fellow teammates, Sage ran off to change, promising she’d meet him in his Common Room later.

            The party in Gryffindor Tower was fun, without a doubt, but the group of 7th years couldn’t help but feel out of place. They’d all been to so many parties and now just sat in the corner of the room and wished something new would happen.

            Perhaps they were used to the chaos those kinds of events had. Perhaps they were tired of it. Or maybe they had grown out of the phase where they-- yeah, no, growing out of it wasn’t the reason they felt so bored.

            There were many reasons why Remus suggested they all head somewhere else, and there were many reasons why everyone agreed. Whatever these reasons were, they led to a group of tired (physically and mentally) seventh-years heading out of the common room and up to the boys’ dorm.

            They all sat in a circle on the floor and hung out, ignoring the noise coming from the common room. It was peaceful in the boy’s room, something they all appreciated. Marlene and Lily were joking around with Remus and soft laughter came from them occasionally. James was discussing something with Diana and Sirius, a silly subject turned into a serious conversation (the effects of lack of sweets on their young minds).

            Peter, Wendy, Sage, and Kingsley Shacklebolt (the other 7th year Gryffindor boy who had lived with the Marauders since their first year. The only way he stayed sane? _A lot_ of muffling charms.) were taking turns telling stories about random, strange things they’d experienced, and saying anything which came to mind.

            The calm in the room on that Saturday night was well-welcomed. With the stress of the upcoming exams and the fear of what their futures held looming over them, along with the constant knowledge that out there, beyond the protective barriers of Hogwarts, a war raged on, they all needed a night where they could be themselves.

            They were teenagers. And despite what their elders thought, they were not wild and crazy, immature beings who didn’t know anything but acted like they did. They were teenagers who were nothing but people.

            They were people, just like everyone else. People who had feelings, and sometimes they had too many to handle or so few they feared if they’d ever feel again.

            People who had thoughts, who were conscious beings with opinions and ideas, who knew things they probably should not. They had _dreams_ and _goals_ and _ideas_ , some of which were brilliant and some of which were impossible and some of which were so fucking stupid, but they didn’t want to give up on any of them. Not yet.

            They were people who were often treated as if they were not because they were young. People who sat together and shared parts of themselves with those around them. People who went on adventures, who swore to each other they’d never lose their youth as they took drags from thin white things they held in their fingers.

            They weren’t growing up too fast, despite what others said and what they felt. They were just growing up. And in the process, they felt fear overtake them as they shifted into new people. They were becoming adults, and losing their old selves in the process. Nobody had told them the price for personal growth is saying goodbye to yourself, to your closest friend and worst enemy.

            They were people who just wanted to be fucking happy but didn’t know exactly how to do so. They were just like everyone else-- trying their best to turn out okay and hoping things would be fine in the end.

            They were teenagers and they were fucking tired of being too young to make decisions. So fucking what if they wanted to do something they’d undo in the future, like get dumb tattoos or get married? At least for some time they’d enjoy those things. They might grow out of something, but in order to do so they had to do it first.

            They were teenagers and they weren’t too young to understand but they were too young to do anything about it.

            They were teenagers, and they were getting older.

            None of them knew what being an adult was like, but they knew what they were feeling that night in that dorm room in that tower of the place they would soon no longer call home was something exclusive to adolescence.

            The spark in the air brought about by the energy and emotion and hormones was something they would all soon forget. They’d no longer know what it was like to be young and reckless, to hurl yourself over a cliff just to see what would happen, to have such strong emotional ties to everything they knew.

            When they were adults like those they knew now, maybe they would see the energy surrounding teenagers and not know what it was like. Would they see their own children experience it? Would they recognize it? Would it be like a far-off, familiar, foggy memory they just couldn’t grasp onto, just couldn’t remember all the way, like it was sand slipping through their fingers?

            Or will they have forgotten totally? Would they look at those teenagers with rolling eyes that saw nothing but immaturity and foolishness, think of the pure emotions surrounding them like a cloud of smoke, and treat it the way adults treated them now?

            The future was unclear. This was another part of what they were feeling-- the uncertainty of adolescence. They looked at the adults around them who seemed to have everything figured out, their parents and guardians and role models who signalled to them to join them in the security of a stable adult life. But the teenagers had no idea of how to get there.

            They were being waved over, but how were they supposed to follow the instructions of someone who might’ve forgotten how it felt to be young and scared and lonely and unprepared and unsure and lost? These people were showing them the way, but they couldn’t see where the teenagers were starting.

            None of them were having such depressing inner monologues. They were just sitting there, existing happily and innocently.

            Just as Sage finished up telling Peter about the time where she went ice skating on a lake with ice much too thin, a strum of a guitar caused her to turn her body and see Remus was now sat on his bed with a guitar in his lap. Marlene and Lily were looking at him with expectant faces, egging him on silently.

            Long, thin fingers plucked at the strings on Remus’ guitar, an old instrument which had belonged to his father once upon a time. It was a pale brown, with strings that had been replaced too many times to count stretched over its scarred surface, just like the boy who so expertly handled it.

            Sage watched Remus with wide eyes and crawled closer to him. As she shuffled past James, a pair of hands grabbed her waist gently and pulled her back. Sage sat in front of James in between his spread and stretched out legs. With his chest against her back, he brushed her hair to the left, resting his chin on the shoulder free of hair.

            She smiled, moving his arms from being wrapped tightly around her and to take his hands in hers. As Remus began to play random notes, she took a finger and traced all the lines on James’ open palm. He watched her finger move, at peace.

            Remus’ playing became more planned as he decided on a song to play. Sage recognized the notes immediately, and her finger froze as her head snapped up to look at the werewolf who paid her no mind, in his own world as he strummed.

            It was slow and sweet and sad and made tears come to Sage’s eyes as she listened to the raw emotion radiating toward her in the form of sound waves. All Remus was doing was playing a fucking guitar and he somehow was turning the simple noise into poetry. Sage had a flash of the thought ‘ _is he a fucking musical genius_ ’ run through her head before it vanished and her whole mind focused on listening to his playing.

            She’d heard it before. The song he was playing was not an original, but to Sage, he sounded so much better playing his old acoustic guitar on his well-worn bed in the room meant for sleep than Pink Floyd could ever hope to in their whole career even if they _had_ written it.

            The music was simple, too. Notes came off the strings and, when strung together, created art Sage didn’t want to end.

            And then Sirius, who had moved to sit behind Remus on his bed, opened his mouth. And Sage could feel herself start to tear up.

            Sirius “the biggest troublemaker Hogwarts has ever known” Black had the voice of an angel. Sage dropped James’ hand and stared at the long-haired boy as he sang. How she hadn’t known before this he could make such beautiful sounds, she didn’t know and did not care. Now she knew, she never wanted him to stop.

 

            _“So, so you think you can tell_

_“Heaven from Hell,_

_“Blue skies from pain?_

_“Can you tell a green field_

_“From a cold, steel rail?_

_“A smile from a veil?_

_“Do you think you can tell?_ ”

 

            Sage watched as Sirius shifted, moving so he could place his hand on Remus’ shoulder in a way with much more meaning behind it than what was obvious. The warmth from Sirius’ hand caused Remus’ shoulder to relax and a smile to begin to form on the werewolf’s face.

            James had intertwined their fingers, staying silent as he, too, listened to the boys. They didn’t do things like this often. Sometimes, after rough moons, Sirius would sit at the old piano in the Shrieking Shack and play something. If it had been _really_ bad, he would sing.

 

            _”Did they get you to trade_

_“Your heroes for ghosts?_

_“Hot ashes for trees?_

_“Hot air for a cool breeze?_

_“Cold comfort for change?_

_“And did you exchange_

_“A walk on part in the war_

_“For a lead role in a cage?_ ”

 

            Sage didn’t feel like she was really there, in her body. She could feel James’ chest against her back, his fingers moving slightly, intertwined with hers, the floor beneath her, her clothes on her skin. She could see the scene in front of her, with two girls watching two boys who lived in their own world, a bubble surrounding them and keeping them safe while the rest of the room filled with water.

            She smelled the burning wood from the hearth in the middle of the room, and she could taste the lingering flavour of the candy Peter had shared with her minutes before.

            But all she focused on was listening, hearing the array of sounds coming from the boys, the bewitching music taking over every other sense until she was floating in a sea of sound. There was no magic involved, just music. Music was delivering to her raw, unfiltered emotion.

 

            “ _How I wish, how I wish you were here_

_“We’re just two lost souls_

_“Swimming in a fishbowl_

_“Year after year_

_“Running over the same old ground_

_“What have we found?_

_“The same old fears?_

_“Wish you were here._ ”

 

            Remus’ fingers continued after Sirius’ voice quieted, and the whole room listened to the notes he played with bated breath. Sirius closed his eyes and laid his head on Remus’ back, letting the sounds wash him away.

            Remus’ fingers slowed and the notes faded out to the silence of the room. Sage was speechless, staring at Remus, wanting more.

            She was the first to say anything, although it was quiet. In a whisper, Sage asked, “ _what the fuck_ ,” as it was all she could think to say. Remus looked over at her with a curious and confused smile, his hands now idle.

            “Did you like it, Sage?” He asked, a humorous tone in his voice. Sage looked at him, shocked.

            “Di-did I like it? Are you--” she leaned forward so she could look at James, and asked him, “is he fucking serious?”

            With no hesitation, James grinned and said to her, “I dunno, I mean, they are pretty close.” Sage bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling as she gave him a scolding look and turned back to Remus.

            “Of-fucking-course I liked it!” Remus, who had begun rubbing his temples at James’ comment, smiled awkwardly. Sage glanced around at the other people around her. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life!”

            “Thank you,” said Remus, moving his hand back into his lap and smiling more authentically at her.

            “How the hell did you two get so good at doing music?” Lily sat up, looking up at Remus and Sirius, who had put his head on the werewolf’s shoulder. Remus shrugged, making Sirius’ head move and his eyes go narrow, lips pursing for a second before his features became neutral again.

            “Dunno.”

            “Well, uh, you’ve got to play something else. I can’t handle hearing just one song.”

            And so, after a mini-debate, Remus began playing another song for them. This one was faster than the other, but still slow enough to be romantic. The sweet strumming was soon accompanied by Sirius’ singing, which sounded just as beautiful as it had with the previous song.

            Sage and James were standing now, as Lily had chosen the song specifically because it was “good to dance to slowly and look in someone’s eyes and fall more and more in love with them.” Lily and Marlene danced with wide smiles on both their faces. Sage felt like she was floating in thin air, perhaps laying on a cloud, as she took Lily’s advice and stared into James’ eyes.

 

            _“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_“Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_“All your life,_

_“You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”_

 

            Dancing slowly, James felt the world slip away and leave him, Sage, and the music. He was still totally amazed that Sage was there and _with him_. It was like a dream.

            James kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there for a second as he savoured the moment. _Fuck_ , he loved her. And as she felt his lips on her skin curl into a soft smile, she loved him just as much right back.

 

            _“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_“Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_

_“All your life,_

_“You were only waiting for this moment to be free.”_

 

            Remus’ voice joined Sirius’ for a couple lines, accentuating the music and creating a harmony Sage would imagine later in her life when she needed to be calm. It still surprised her how lovely Sirius’ voice was. The song was fitting for him, a blackbird born to a family of blue jays.

 

            _“Blackbird fly, blackbird fly_

_“Into the light of the dark black night_

_“Blackbird fly, blackbird fly_

_“Into the light of the dark black night.”_

 

            The singing stopped, allowing the notes Remus was playing to shine for a moment. The strumming began to fade out before it came back stronger than ever. Sirius’ voice sang alone again, as strong as Remus’ playing, with a sweeter tone to it.

 

            _“Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_“Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_“All your life,_

_“You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”_

 

            Sage wished she could live in the moment forever, but the song ended. She sat on the floor again, pulling James down with her. He was facing her, a look of awe on his face as he brought a hand to her face, caressing it and rubbing her cheek with his thumb. She closed her eyes and brought a hand to touch his, leaning into his touch.

            It occurred to her this was just one of many possible moments of pure bliss she could have with him. The part of her which claimed their relationship wouldn’t last was silent, letting her see the future with hope. Things would work out okay-- she knew they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So quick author's note - I'm updating a day early this week because I have so much school stuff I have to do and I don't think I'll be able to update if I don't do it right now. Whatever - take it or leave it, I'm sure you don't care. Also! Thanks for reading! Like... wow! Thanks! This chapter in particular is near & dear to my heart, though it is a little strange at times. It's long (like... really long. Sorry?), and it's got some new shit. Like. Formatting new shit. They're songs! It isn't a common thing in this book but there are more songs later! This chapter has Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here (I won't say if this is or is not the inspiration behind the name of this fic... you'll see if you read to the end of the book!) - particularly, I thought of Ninja Sex Party's cover of the song - it's a beautiful song either way, but damn. Good song. The other song is Blackbird by the Beatles! It really makes me think of Sirius - a blackbird born to a family of bluejays. Both songs are period-accurate, if you notice! Anyway, thanks! 


	30. Thirty

            “Congratulations on becoming old, Remus.”

            “Prongs, I’m eighteen. All of us are eighteen. You’re the odd one out here, mate.”

            “You’ve all gone and left me behind in the strange world of being seventeen. You traitors.”

            “You’ll be eighteen soon enough, Prongs. We’ll never betray you.”

            “Wormtail, I trust you, I really do, but the facts are right in front of us-- I’m all alone here. Stuck in seventeen-year-old limbo.”

            “It’s not as bad as when you were still sixteen and we were all seventeen, though--”

            “ _Don’t remind me_! How _horrid_ it was for all of you to be of age without me! Although, at least then, I had more chances to do things illegally. More fun, really.”

            “Yeah, and since you’re the youngest, you’ll live the longest.”

            “Living a long time? In _this_ economy??? Unlikely. And what makes you think I’ll allow any of you to die, _hmm_?”

            “Okay, Prongs, I realize it is currently a minute after midnight and you’re very tired, but can you be _just a touch_ less dramatic?”

            “I’m-- ugh, because it’s your _birthday or whatever_ , I will shut up. For you.”

            “I’m touched, really.”

            “Hey, I may be obnoxious, but I will be less so for my friends.”

            “Can you two shut up? I’m trying to sleep. I feel like death.”

            “ _Fine_ , Padfoot. I’ll _sleep or whatever_.”

            “...”

            “...”

            “...”

            “Do you think cats have souls?”

            “SIRIUS I WAS ABOUT TO FALL ASLEEP WHAT THE FUCK.”

            “Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

            “...”

            “ _But do they?_ ”

            “Sirius, if you don’t shut up, I swear I will _invent_ a spell to sew your mouth shut and keep you from ever speaking again.”

            “Alrighty then, well, er, happy birthday, Moony. Sirius is shutting up now.”

            “Thank you.”

            “...”

            “Does McGonagall have a soul?”

            “PETER.”

  
            Easter break began, once again not a break at all, but a week for students to try to catch up in all their classes. The Marauders were also enjoying having the ability to recover from the full moon on Friday, staying in their room and working there for a day to keep Remus company.

            And the day after Easter, James finally caught up to the rest of them in age. His eighteenth birthday started out with him sleeping in (a Monday with no classes-- truly a blessing) before he shuffled down to the Great Hall for a late breakfast with his friends. He was greeted by almost everyone he walked by and was wished happy birthday more times than he could count. As he looked at the Hufflepuff table to see Sage, he frowned - she wasn’t there. But he shrugged it off and turned back to the conversation between him and his friends.

            It was after he finished up his eggs when a piece of folded-up parchment fell in front of him, floating down from the ceiling. James grabbed it, looking around to find who sent it.

            “I don’t see anyone, Prongs,” said Sirius, searching as well. He shifted his attention back to James and the note in his hands. “Well go on, open it.”

            So James unfolded the note, recognizing the familiar handwriting on it. “It’s from Sage.” As the Gryffindor read what she had written, his expression changed from one of confusion to utter joy.

 

_Deer James,_

_First off, happy birthday! You’re eighteen! You’ve fawnally joined us all!_

_Okay, so I’m finishing up an essay right now (it’s terrible. I’m almost done, doe!) and as soon as I finish I’m going to come find you, and I’ll be yours all day. You’ll just have to go stag for a bit._

_Until then, I’ll leave you with these words to show you my deervotion. You’ve stolen my hart, Messr Prongs. Some day we’ll look back at all the things which behooved us in our youth and tell tails of our adventures (which we’re sure to keep having, lest we fall in a rut). I must admit, I was a weary one in matters of love, but we have something which bucks that._

_Also, I would like to make a pawnerable mention to Sirius for helping me compose a list of words related to deer. He’s a wild one, for sure, wagging wild. Although, he isn’t man’s best friend, is he? Should be “stag’s best friend”. Woof._

_HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU WILD ANIMAL_

_-Sage_

_P.S. do you remember when Wendy and I found a dog & a deer in an abandoned classroom? I only did last night and I have to say that recalling it made me laugh for about an hour in total. Ah, here I go again. I cannot believe you two (I can, actually)_

            “You okay, Prongs?” Sirius put down his fork, watching as James stared at the note with watery eyes.

            “I--” James’ voice was small and fragile, his eyes unblinking. “I love her so much, what the fuck.” Putting down the note, James covered his face, his fingers slipping under his glasses, as his shoulders shook. The other three looked at each other, unable to tell if he was laughing or sobbing.

            “...James?”

            A long, muffled groan came from the birthday boy.

            “...you alright?”

            “UGHHH.”

            “...do you want help, or…?”

            James took in a sharp breath as he brought his hands away from his face and looked at Remus, eyes red.

            “She wrote me a note full of deer puns.” James spoke slowly, as if this was crucial information Remus needed to absorb.

            “Uh-huh,” Remus nodded, hand moving to cover his mouth as if he was seriously considering what James was saying (he was really just trying to hide his smile).

            “ _Deer puns, Remus._ ”

            “But it was nothing you haven’t heard before, I’m sure.” Sirius was not bothering to hide the grin on his face.

            “She made dog puns, too.”

            Sirius’ eyes widened as he reached for the note, “she didn’t tell me she was going to make dog puns!”

            “Ah!” James grabbed the note, holding it away from Sirius, who reached out for it and cursed his body for being so short, unable to get to it (and not only was _he short_ , James was a _fucking tall monster creation_ ).

            “Please, James, I _need_ more dog puns!”

            “Then go beg somebody else, Padfoot.”

            Sirius stilled, staring at James with narrowed eyes. “Did you just--”

            “Yes, yes I did.” James smiled smugly, “you’re a good boy, Padfoot.”

            Sirius glanced over at Remus before he looked at James again with a pout. Remus, still covering his mouth, let out a snort. Sirius huffed.

            “They were so good. Such good puns - tasteful. Like a nice, finely aged wine.”

            “Cultivated in a wine cellar for 18 years, made of the finest words in the whole linguistic vineyard?”

            “Exactly, Wormtail, exactly.” Nodding wisely, James folded the note up again and shoved it into his pocket. “So!” Clapping his hands together, James leaned forward and gave them all a familiar mischievous smile. “What are we doing today?”

            “Are you, James Potter, Head Boy, suggesting we get up to no good?” Sirius mirrored James’ look, a sparkle in his grey eyes.

            “Well, we’ve only got a couple months left at Hogwarts, so we’ve got to. Our window of opportunity is closing,” James cocked an eyebrow, “we’ve an obligation, as mischief-makers.”

            “You know what we should do?” Peter sat up, hand on his chin. “Not today, but... before we go, we should leave the Map.”

            “T-the... _Marauder’s_ Map?!” Jaw practically dropped, James stared at Peter aghast. “My baby? You’re joking.”

            “No, Wormtail’s right,” said Remus, something which caused James’ head to turn, incredibly slowly and dramatically, so the Potter boy could share his expression of shock and awe. Remus ignored this, though, and elaborated. “We won’t be using it anymore once we’ve gone, James. Leaving it behind is smart-- we could put it somewhere the next generation of pranksters will find it… Would you rather it sit in your closet for years, unused and collecting dust, or part with it, giving it a chance to be used?”

            James’ mouth closed and his eyes narrowed - he had a good point. But, then again, it _would_ be used again, at least, when his kids went to Hogwarts themselves. It would be years, though... Perhaps this wasn’t _such_ a ridiculous suggestion.

            “Where could we put it where it wouldn’t be found by just anyone, but where it _would_ be found by our worthy successors?”

            James’ expression changed from reluctant agreement to one which conveyed just how mischievous he was feeling. “The _responsible_ thing to do,” he began, a small smirk appearing underneath eyes which peeked out of their corners, “as Head Boy, would be to turn the contraband into Filch.”

            There was a pause, during which Sirius sat forward as his mind began to scheme. “Prongs, you madman, that could work-- he’d put it with all those other confiscated things... the only people who would have the guts to go looking through his stuff are the exact people we’d want to have the Map. And if we convince him to leave it there, blank... someday, maybe far into the future, someone will come along, starting a new reign over the school…”

            He trailed off, was silent for a second solely to build dramatic tension, and unveiled his idea, adding to it on the spot.

            “Our last day, or last week, Prongs could give it to him, acting as if he’d confiscated it from someone as Head Boy... ah, no, that wouldn’t work, he’ll never trust James… Maybe Moony? Nah, he’d still be suspicious, he doesn’t trust _any_ of the students...

            “What if, and hear me out, we _happen_ to use it where he could see, wiping it right before he nicks it?”

            “It’s risky, Padfoot, but it could work. We use it to figure out where he is, head there, and stand where he’s going. Give him just enough of a look at it, wipe it, and act like he’s finally gotten the best of us. We put up enough of a fight where he knows it’s something he should put with his other contraband, and head off on our way, mapless for the first time in-- what would it be? Four, five years?”

            “Four, I think. Four and a half, to be fair.”

            James was torn. The Marauder’s Map was one of his most prized possessions, along with his father’s invisibility cloak. The Map might’ve even been more precious to him-- as his own blood, sweat, and tears went into the creation of it. The memories he had of him and his best friends huddled over cartography books, wandering the castle - checking every crack and corner for any secrets - and designing the map were some of his favourites. But his friends were right. After graduation, he’d have no use for it. It should go on to the next generation.

            “What do you think they’ll be like?” James looked around at his friends, “the people who use it next?”

            Sirius shrugged, Remus giving him a blank look. Peter looked off at the ceiling, imagining.

            “I’d like to think they’re like us-- Gryffindors, as we are the most mischievous house-- who have a talent for getting into trouble. Prodigies at many things, but most of their skills go towards pranks and such. There’s more than one of them, obviously, but... how many doesn’t matter.

            “They’re good people, too. They don’t go out with malicious intent. They’re just looking for fun. They’re loyal to each other, like us. Staying as one until the end.”

            “That sounds nice.” James nodded. He could see it. The next generation (he wouldn’t deny seeing them in weird futuristic clothes, all chrome and metallic. James’ idea of what the future would look like was wild and most likely untrue).

            “WAIT--” Sirius sat up suddenly, eyes panicked. “What if he tries to get rid of it? What if he-- oh Merlin-- what if he tries to burn it or something?!”

            “Calm down, Sirius, we can charm it so it won’t burn. Maybe there’s something we could cast where it would return to his cabinet if he tried to get rid of it…”

            “Where would we be without you, Moony?”

            “Most likely? Dead. Or in prison.” Remus shrugged, grabbing his goblet and sipping his pumpkin juice.

            “Okay, so we’ve got that planned, but what are we doing _today_?”

            “Not dying and not going to prison.”

            “You really do keep us out of trouble, Remus.”

            “Fuck you, James.”

 

            Easter “break” ended, and the school went back to sitting through classes. With only a couple months before the N.E.W.T.s, the 7th years were drowning in assignments. Those taking more than 5 classes were occasionally seriously considering dropping out of school (“I don’t need an education to _fucking die_ ”).

            On a Saturday morning in April, Sage was scarfing down toast when the owls swooped in to the Great Hall. The girl across from her got her copy of the day’s _Daily Prophet_ , starting to read it silently with a look on her face that let Sage know none of the news was good.

            Right when the girl turned the page, an owl landed in front of Sage. It was on the smaller side, a fluffy-feathered bird with black and grey colouring and yellow eyes. Sage took the envelope it was shoving towards her, giving it a generous bit of toast it gobbled down, nipping her fingers nicely before flying off.

            “I keep forgetting how much I love owls.” Sage smiled, turning the envelope over and seeing her name written in her brother’s familiar handwriting. As always, his beautiful scrawl was written messily, as he almost always rushed when he wrote things.

            She opened the envelope, pulling out the letter inside with a grin on her face.

 

_Sage,_

_Exams are shit, aren’t they? I can’t remember hardly anything from my 7th year but how much I hated those fucking NEWTs. I don’t even remember what I got on mine. Also I can't remember what classes they were on. I think I took 6? Maybe. Don’t know. Still less than you. Hufflepuffs are tougher than Slytherins._

_It’s been boring here. The only times anything exciting happens is when I'm called for you-know-what. I’ve been careful, just like I promised. There are a lot of random calls and such. I’m actually heading to a meeting immediately after I finish this (I’ll be sending it later, just to be safe)._

_Tell James happy birthday for me- I know I’m late, but... whatever._

_Oh, I’ve gotten an owl! His name is Harold, he’s incredibly sweet, and I love him. I hope you will too. He loves sleeping, particularly in my bed. The perch I got him is ignored, he just wants to sleep on my pillows. It doesn’t help when I don’t scold him as well. I’m too busy thinking he is the cutest creature to ever exist to get mad._

_I’ve got to head out now- I might add more onto this if I think of anything else to say while I’m out._

            Sage smiled, turning the paper over where the writing continued. She glanced over at Wendy, who was staring off into the distance, fighting to stay awake. Sage nudged her, Wendy’s eyes widening as she snapped back to reality, shaking her head and taking a sip of her water.

            Looking back at the letter, Sage noticed the handwriting had gotten more erratic.

 

_I don't know where to start, Sage. I’ve just been told you’re planning on joining the Order. I don’t know if you don’t know how dangerous it is or if you are--_

_I don’t know. I’m not okay with you throwing away your young life. Yeah, it’s a good cause, but you’re going to get hurt. People are dying, Sage. Did you not think of wh--_

_I know I usually try to stay out of your business and let you make your own decisions, but I can’t let you do this, Sage. I’m not mom, and I try my hardest not to be dad, but I’ve got to be some kind of guardian here._

_I know you're 18 and you can technically do whatever you want to, but I’m just not going to sit idly by and let you do this. And knowing how fucking stubborn you are, you won’t stop. And how can I stop you? Ground you? You’re 18. You’re not a kid anymore even if I still think you are._

_I’m not happy, Sage. I don’t want to tell you how mad I am in case something happens to either one of us- I don’t want the last thing I said to you to be “I don’t know if I can look at you the same anymore” or something. But fuck, Sage! I’ve already lost so many people and I don’t want to add you to the growing list. You know I love you and I want you to do what makes you happy, but if putting yourself in danger is what you’re going to do, I won’t support it._

_August_

 

            There were tears in Sage’s eyes as her hand went to cover her mouth. A comforting hand touched her shoulder as Wendy looked at her in concern, brow furrowed. A voice asked if she was okay. She shook her head, grabbing her bag and rushing out of the Hall.

            She could tell Wendy was chasing after her, but she didn’t look back. Unaware of where she was going, Sage rushed through corridors, turning and going random ways as if she was trying to get lost. It didn’t take long until the quick footsteps following her vanished, as Wendy lost track of Sage, heading down a wrong corridor and ending up going the opposite direction of the girl she was trying to find.

            Sage stopped at some point, her eyes leaking onto her cheeks. She glanced around at where she was, suddenly baffled, as she really _was_ lost.

            Er, no-- she knew that staircase! If she headed up it, she’d end up… nope, wrong staircase. She climbed up, greeted by a large window on a boxed-in wall. She walked to the window, staring out of it, but couldn’t even find out where she was when she could see outside.

            She was fucked. Letting out a sigh, she laid her bag on the ground, sitting next to the window, with her back against a wall and feet pushing on another. A sob worked its way up her throat.

            She couldn’t even remember exactly what he had said, but she was feeling the emotion brought on by everything around her. The chaos of a world plunged into war, trying to stay the same when it had already changed so much.

            Every day, all those names in the papers, all the raids, all the dead. There had been times where those people had been related to someone in the castle. Just the other day, a pretty Ravenclaw only found out her mother was dead when she read the paper. Sage would never be able to forget the scream the girl made that day.

            Another wave of sobs came from her as she imagined how she might react to reading August’s name, and yet another when she imagined August reading hers.

            With a thousand thoughts running through her head, Sage didn’t hear the footsteps approaching her. All she felt was a warm hand on her knee, connected to someone who was kneeling beside her. Her head snapped up as she wiped away her tears to look at who it was.

            James didn’t say anything. He just looked at her, hazel eyes showing her he was there for her and didn’t plan on going anywhere.

            Sage sniffed, trying to get herself together, and attempted to smile at him. But before she could stop it, she let out a sob, her hands grabbing onto his shirt as she buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing his lips to the top of her head and resting them there, breathing in her smell.

            She sobbed into his chest for a few moments, feeling the warmth coming from him. He wasn’t shushing her, which she appreciated, and he wasn’t telling her it would all be okay, which made her (oddly) feel better. He was just being there for her. It was nice.

            James felt quite awkward. He didn’t know if he was helping. He hadn’t been around Sage when she was emotional and thus didn’t know how to handle her. With Sirius, when he had a particularly bad memory pop into his head, or when he got mad and started to hate himself because of how much he acted like his mother when he was angry, James would play soft music and brush his hair, maybe braid it, while he told dumb stories.

            With Remus, when he was overcome by all the pent up anger and sadness he’d collected over the years or when he overheard some boys talking about him and his scars and how ugly they were, James would read to him and feed him bits of chocolate, telling him bad jokes.

            With Peter, who was actually the least emotional out of the bunch, when someone said something particularly awful about him, whether it be about his size, his looks, or how he was viewed by the rest of the school as the ‘extra’ Marauder, James would come up with stories to tell him. Sometimes they would stay up all night sharing ideas for the story they would forget by morning and passing thoughts through each other.

            With Sage... he didn’t know. So he just started doing something so he wouldn’t feel so useless.

            Sage pulled away from him slowly, sobs stopped, and looked at him as she wiped off the many tears littering her face.

            “Are you... is that the Monkees?”

            “ _And then I saw her face_ ,” James sang, his voice weird and not at all good. Sage loved it. “ _Now I’m a believer._ ”

            Sage sniffed and wiped her cheeks once more as the last of her tears fell. James’ singing got louder and worse (and more ridiculous), causing her to smile. It took a minute, but her splotchy red face grinned at him.

            “ _I’m a believer, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, YEAH_ ” James’ eyes closed as he sang. Sage snorted as she watched how into the song he had gotten. “ _I said I’m a believer, yeah, I said I’m a believer, yeah_.”

            James opened his eyes to see Sage with a goofy, lopsided grin on a tear-stained face, puffy and red, and he smiled right back at her.

            “You’ve got a lovely singing voice, James Potter,” said Sage.

            “I know,” James grinned, his arms still wrapped around her. “One more thing I’m good at, I guess.”

            “You really are the whole package.”

            James smiled, “I love you.” He kissed the top of her head again, “and I want you to know if you want to tell me stuff, you can. I’ll listen.”

            Sage took in a breath before she told him about the letter, a few tears slipping out of her eyes again James wiped away with his thumb. He stayed silent while she spoke and nodded along as she talked about how much she hated the war and what it was doing.

            “All these fucking prejudiced assholes are walking the streets and parading their values around freely, killing people in the process. I... it makes my blood boil. I can’t sit idly by and do nothing. I see where he’s coming from, and I want to meditate or whatever with him, but... I don’t see him doing the same. I don’t think he’s going to change his mind, and I know I’m not. At least not anytime soon.”

            James nodded again, watching her let out a sigh. There was silence for a second.

            “I don’t know what you can do to fix things, but I know everything will work out.”

            “Will they, though? I’m pretty sure the only reason he’s still talking to me is because I haven’t actually gone out and joined the Order. When I do, who knows. He’s my brother and I love him, but he is the kind of person who won’t talk to someone they’re mad at.”

            “Really? That’s... kinda shitty.”

            “Yeah, I guess. I mean, to a certain degree, I’m the same, so I can’t shit on him for it.” Sage ran a hand through her hair and chuckled dryly. “I guess I’ll try to do what I can-- I know he probably won’t accept it at any point, but... I can try to at least get him to live with it.”

            James kissed her forehead again, pulling away to look at her with a sad smile.

            “I dunno how to help you, but I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.” James brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, wrapping his arm around her again immediately after.

            “Thanks, James.” Sage buried her face in his chest again, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. “Can you sing for me again?” She mumbled, moving her head so she could look up at him. He answered her with a grin.

            “Always.”

 


	31. Thirty-One

            Sage had forgotten about her conflict with Lucinda Talkalot for the most part; her mind was too preoccupied with other things (mainly those fucking exams which grew closer and closer) to worry about a schoolyard enemy. It was when she got out onto the Quidditch field to train for the next match when she really thought about it. Hufflepuff was going up against Slytherin, and Sage had absolutely no idea how Lucinda was going to handle it.

            Since their last interaction, the Slytherin had gone quiet. No longer was Sage having to come up with clever insults to respond to Lucinda’s taunts. It was peaceful. All Lucinda did was send her quick nasty looks before going back to whatever she had been doing.

            But on the Quidditch field, all bets were off. If Lucinda wanted, she could have Sage beat up, and later claim it was just the way of the game. Sage was morally against doing the same, normally, but if Lucinda managed to get her angry... she’d probably end up getting fouled more in the one game than she had in her whole career.

            Saturday morning, Sage was soothed by her team and her friends. Her two Beaters expressed how strongly they _would not let anything happen to her_ by making excessively aggressive gestures with their hands.

            The Marauders stopped by to wish her luck (Sirius winked at her as he slid his wand up his sleeve in an obvious move in solidarity). After snogging her (in private, of course), James told her he wouldn’t let anything happen. She told him he’d only need to intervene if things got _really_ bad and thanked him with another kiss. After all, she didn’t even know if Lucinda would _bother_ anymore. Her friends showing they would protect her felt more like something they were doing for fun because it felt nostalgic. It was easier to pretend like Lucinda and Sage were still mortal rivals than acknowledge this was Sage’s last game _ever_.

            Playing was just as amazing as it always was. Knowing she would never play another game as Hufflepuff’s captain, Sage did her best to focus on the sport. She wasn’t surprised to note Slytherin’s team wasn’t particularly aggressive, though she and Lucinda did go harder on each other than might’ve been necessary.

            By the end of the game, Sage was as beaten and exhausted physically as she was mentally. While she celebrated Hufflepuff’s victory, she tried not to frown when people pat her on the back. It was good she won her final game, but it was still her _final game_.

            There were tears shed, as Sage’s last Quidditch game at Hogwarts ended. She would still technically be captain until the year ended, but her career was over. She swore to herself she would keep playing sometimes, as she loved it so much, and it made her so happy. She wouldn’t let herself lose such a big part of herself.

            Sage glanced over at Lucinda, who was scowling, with a deeper sadness in her eyes. For a second, words slipped into Sage’s mouth. They were on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them, unsaid.

            And after James embraced her and kissed her passionately and told her how proud he was, she grinned at him and told him he “better fucking win” his last match, making him scoff jokingly (“as if I’d ever lose”).

            So when James’ team fucking demolished Ravenclaw two weeks later, Sage celebrated with him. They ended up in the Astronomy Tower that night, staring out at the sky and reminiscing over their Quidditch careers. They soon shifted to just telling stories about the shenanigans they had gotten to over the years at Hogwarts. James, unsurprisingly, had many stories to tell her. But Sage did shock him with a few things, including when she told him about the time she was dared to kiss the Giant Squid. She hadn’t backed out.

            And James told her of some of the things he had done while he was chasing after Lily Evans, including the time he tried to climb up the girls staircase over and over, even though it kept turning into a slide.

            “And Marlene McKinnon was trying to come down at one point, and I thought maybe if she was on the stairs they wouldn’t change, but…” James let out a regretful chuckle. “I tried again, and she ended up sliding down and falling on me.”

            “James Potter, you hooligan,” Sage said, shaking with laughter. “And poor Marlene. Poor Lily!”

            “I still feel bad about it sometimes-- the whole chasing her endlessly thing. I was an... obnoxious kid.”

            “At least you stopped when she came out.”

            “Yeah, and I made a fool of myself _again_ when I followed her around everywhere trying to apologize to her. It’s a wonder why she became friends with me.”

            “She’s a gift to this world, James.”

            “You don’t have to tell me that.” James ran a hand through his hair and turned his head to look at her. “It was actually when I started to get over my crush on her when I got one for you.”

            “Really?” Sage turned her head, too, surprised. “It must’ve been 5th year, though.”

            “Yeah, well…”

            “And you never said anything?”

            “Well... I dunno, it was different with you. With Lily, I was trying so hard to impress her all the time, all... loud and stuff. With you, I couldn’t talk to you, let alone put on a show or whatever.” James looked back up at the sky. “I think it was because you were in a different house, maybe. I didn’t really get the chance to talk to you and get used to being around you, and after the whole thing with Lily, I wasn’t into the idea of being rejected again.”

            “Are you telling me fifteen-year-old James Potter was too scared of fifteen-year-old Sage?” Sage teased him, giving his hand a squeeze.

            “I mean, I wasn’t _scared_ , I was... you made me all blushy and stuff.” James huffed, glancing back over at her and seeing the smile she had on her face.

            “That’s adorable.” Sage looked up at the sky again, silent for a second before she admitted, “you know what young Sage thought of young James?”

            “What?” James tried to seem somewhat uninterested.

            “Well, she was quite angry.”

            “What?! Why?”

            “Because you were too smart and too cute and too talented, and way too funny. And most of all, tiny Sage was mad because she saw tiny James when he was a bully, and she thought it wasn’t fair he could be so charming and still be a prick.”

            James stared at her, mouth open with the corners turned upward. Sage used her elbows to support herself.

            “I’m so distraught right now,” said James after a second, closing his mouth. “On one hand, you _basically_ loved me--”

            “James…”

            “-- _but_ , you thought I was a dick... this is so weird for me, you don’t even know.” James held his head in his hands, Sage rolling her eyes. “ _You... liked_ me, but…”

            “Eh,” said Sage, a sound of protest. “I mean, all I saw of you was you being annoying to Lily and disrupting classes and bullying people and such.”

            “Well, to be fair, that was most of what I did back then.”

            “But what did you like about me? I mean, you would’ve only seen me when we had classes together and around school sometimes.” Sage watched as James let out a deep breath as if he was preparing to tell her a big speech.

            “And during meals, and for Quidditch stuff, and... I don’t want to go too far into it, because you’ll think I’m creepy, but we saw each other a lot more than you probably think.” In a hurry, he tried to save himself, “but I didn’t, like, follow you around or anything! Just like... I noticed things more. Every time I saw you, I noted it. I guess it just, like, meant more to me, you know?”

            “Okay…” Sage didn’t quite know how to feel about this - should she be creeped out? She wasn’t, but she also didn’t see it as particularly _cute_. He tugged on his hair a bit before continuing.

            “And seeing you during class was big, too. When we had Herbology or Potions together, and you’d answer questions... if you got them right, you’d smile just a little bit and whisper with whoever you were sitting with, which was never me because even though I’d come up with big plans so I could sit with you I’d always chicken out…” He stared out into the distance of the sky, remembering.

            “And sometimes you’d help other people with their work, and you were so nice about it. There was one time when you explained something to me and I nodded even though I didn’t understand because I couldn’t focus on plants when you were _right there_. And when I nodded as if I got it, you smiled at me and I almost fainted because you were so cute.”

            “Holy shit, James.”

            James looked back at her with hot cheeks, feeling more like he did that day in Herbology than he had in almost a year.

            “I, er, I really liked you.” As he scratched the back of his neck, Sage nodded.

            “I... that’s actually really sweet.”

            James looked at her in surprise for a second before he grinned, “it is?”

            “I mean, yeah. I can’t believe the great James Potter had such a crush on me.” Letting out a giggle, Sage sat up more so she was sitting in front of him, looking at his beautiful hazel eyes. “And the whole time, I had such a big crush on one of your friends--”

            “What?! Who?! Was it Sirius? I bet it was Sirius, the mot--”

            “James!” Sage made a noise, something half-laugh and half-snort, and placed a hand on James’ arm. “It wasn’t one of the Marauders. It was Lily.”

            “You had a crush on Lily?!”

            “Yeah, until around the end of 6th year.” Sage watched as James tugged on his hair in confusion and shock.

            “I’m…?”

            “Surprised?”

            “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” James’ hands fell into his lap as he let out a sharp breath.

            “Well, don’t worry.” Sage smiled sweetly at him. “I’m all yours now. You finally started talking to me, and now, after about a year, we’re here. Together.”

            James made a noise not unlike one created by excited pre-teen girls and wrapped his arms around her tightly, kissing the top of her head multiple times. He rocked her in his arms, her head smushed against his chest.

            He held her for a bit, telling her how much he loved her before they broke apart and started helping Sage study the sky (a great way to justify hanging out atop the Astronomy Tower-- she was working).

 

            June was absolute chaos. The N.E.W.T.s began on the 5th (the first Monday of the month), and sent the already distraught seventh-years into a panic. Many calming draughts were handed out even in the days before exams started. Even Sirius “I skipped class because they don’t deserve my presence” Black could be found attempting to stuff his brain full of information, huddled over his Transfiguration book with a sour look on his face.

            On the Friday before exams began, Sage had a bit of a mental breakdown in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It happened quickly, at the end of the class, and quickly turned into a rant. Sage couldn’t even remember what had sparked it, just the heavy surge of emotion leading up to it.

            “We’re all searching for the idealist adolescence which is heavily romanticized but rarely experienced. We’re told ‘when you’re a teenager, you’ll do this, you’ll be this, you’ll go on all kinds of wild adventures, because that’s what you’re supposed to do.’ These things are supposed to change our lives totally, make us the kind of adults we’re supposed to be. We’ll look back with a rose-tinted view of the past which will make us want to be teenagers again. We’ll search our whole lives for the rush of an experience we never truly had.

            “Being a teenager and being told it’s the best time of your life is terrifying. Because if this, how I’m feeling right now, is the peak, then what reason is there to go on? Why should I grow up when I’m doomed to just want to return to youth? Is there any part of being older that’s good?   
            “You’re teaching us to handle responsibility, telling us we’ll have to deal with it in the future, but it’s not the future. You say I’ll have to do this when I’m older, but you’re having me do it now in preparation… does that make any sense? You tell us these are things only adults can do, but we aren’t adults. And nobody tells us what’s good about getting older, so all we hear about is these hard things. I don’t understand that. How are we not going to look at the future hopelessly if that’s the only way you show it to us?”

            Sage took in a deep breath, grasping onto her desk as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded on Earth. The class around her was staring at her with wide eyes, watching her closely. The professor, who had been the one Sage was ranting at, had simply clapped her hands together and let out an “alright” before walking away.

            On Monday, Sage took her Divination N.E.W.T and tried her hardest not to tell the teacher a prediction she really felt was going to come true, settling for “there’s going to be something happening in the Forbidden Forest on Saturday” instead of “I’m going to die from stress”.

            Tuesday, Sage went to Professor McGonagall with shaking hands. Luckily, she was able to steady herself enough to conjure the things asked of her and to write her answers on the written exam. James’ help had clearly paid off, and she ended up doing quite well.

            Wednesday’s day off was a blessing. Sage was able to decrease some of her stress, as she spent most of the day resting. But, she did study for the next two exams more, wishing they were over even though she still had a week and a half to go.

            Thursday, Potions went smoothly enough for Sage to walk out of the dungeons with a smile on her face. Friday, Defense Against the Dark Arts was surprisingly easy. The weekend was mainly spent studying, as hardly anyone had time for anything else.

            Then week two of exams started. With multiple panic attacks and calming draughts distributed through the seventh-years, the testing was long and hellish.

            In Charms, Sage was happy to accept the extra points for casting a successful Patronus charm. Another day off passed, which wasn’t as nice as the first had been, but it was still appreciated.

            Astronomy and Ancient Runes went by with Sage not doing so well in either, but she just… could not bring herself to care. Finally, it was time for the last exam. Herbology was always a subject Sage did well in, so when she walked out of the Greenhouses with a smile on her face from the hints from Professor Sprout that she had done quite well, she headed straight to her dorm where she laid down and took a nap which lasted, in total, about 17 hours.

            It was glorious.


	32. Thirty-Two

 

            Exam results came through quickly, handed out on slips of paper during breakfast. The girl in front of Sage got her results before Sage did. She took the paper with a reluctant, shaking hand, putting down her newspaper and letting out a deep breath before she glanced at the grades. Sage could tell they were horrible simply based on the girl’s horrified (but strangely content) expression. Taking her own paper, Sage was suddenly even less prepared to read it than she was three minutes before.

            Beside her, Wendy sucked in a breath which made Sage’s head snap over. Wendy looked like she might cry as she finished reading her grades, placing the paper onto the table slowly and speaking. “I would like to thank not only God, but Jesus, and Merlin, and who else helped with divine intervention.” She turned to Sage and gestured expectantly, “well, go on, look.”

            “Do I have to?” Sage whined.

            “It’s only a few letters,” Wendy placed a comforting arm on Sage’s shoulder.

            “Yeah, but those few letters are my whole future.” The girls shared a look which made Sage sigh and look at the paper with a huff.

            “Holy shit…” Sage whispered, reading her N.E.W.T. results.

            “What?” Asked Wendy, trying to get a look at the paper. “What’d you get?”

            “Well, I’ve only gotten one grade that isn’t passing, and it’s a ‘P’, so I could retake it, but I don’t want to look at a single rune ever again, so…”

            “Well that’s good.”

            “Yeah, but… I’ve gotten _three_ ‘O’s.”

            “Three? I’ve only gotten two!” Wendy finally managed to get a look at Sage’s paper. “Oh, of course you got one in Herbology… Potions isn’t a surprise either... but Charms? Since when were you good at Charms?”

            “I dunno... oh, you know what? I reckon it’s because I did the Patronus Charm - he said it was extra credit.” Sage began to bite at the nail on her thumb, looking over the paper once more before turning to Wendy. “What all did you get?”

            “Oh, well, I’ve gotten ‘O’s in Care of Magical Creatures and-- I have _absolutely_ no idea how, but in Transfiguration as well.” Wendy picked up her paper and showed Sage.

            “Huh,” said Sage, taking the tip of her thumb out of her mouth. “Maybe I should’ve asked you for help instead of James.”

            Wendy rolled her eyes at Sage’s smirk. “Oh, you know I wouldn’t’ve been able to help you-- I’m a shit teacher, really.”

            “Oh, I remember. It was, what, third year when you convinced me the years 609 through 620 didn’t happen? And I wrote it in on an essay… I still can’t believe I passed History of Magic.”

            “Me either.” Wendy smiled, “can you _imagine_ what taking the Newt level class would’ve been like, if we would’ve taken it?”

            Sage shivered. “Horrific. Totally and completely horrific.”

            “That man makes a seemingly interesting subject turn into the worst goddamn thing ever,” said Wendy. “He should be the Transfiguration teacher, not McGonagall.” The girls broke into laughs before focusing back on their results.

            “I’ve gotten a ‘D’ in Astronomy.” Wendy made a disapproving noise, “unsurprising. I don’t get the sky. And the class isn’t very interesting. At least with the others, it’s all magic and interesting. I could take Astronomy in Muggle school.”

            “Could you?” Sage stared at Wendy in curiosity.

            “Yeah. It’s a bit different, but overall... still boring,” Wendy giggled. Sage snorted, turning back to her breakfast and feeling lighter, overjoyed that exams were over and done with.

            “We’re free now,” Wendy said, looking up at the enchanted ceiling dreamily. “I mean, we’ve got no work left-- we can just enjoy Hogwarts for a while.” Wendy looked back at Sage. “As long and as much as we can before they kick us out.”

            “I’m up for enjoying Hogwarts,” Sage grinned, “we’ve lived in this castle for 7 years, and I want to say goodbye and get to be here without worrying about work.”

            “So you promise? Our last days at Hogwarts will be the best we’ve ever had?” Wendy held out her pinky, in a gesture she had taught Sage when they were younger-- a ‘pinky promise.’

            “I will do my best, and you better, too.” Sage wrapped her pinky around Wendy’s.

            “Nothing could stop me.” The girls gave their hands a shake before taking them apart and giggling at each other.

 

            Sage’s two weeks with no stress didn’t seem to understand what “no stress” meant. As she bumped into none other than Lucinda Talkalot, Sage cursed the universe and tried to walk away. She tried, she really did.

            But when she heard Lucinda mutter nasty words under her breath, Sage couldn’t hold in her own comments.

            “So I’m a blood traitor?” She scoffed, placing a hand on her hip. It was pretty bitchy, in hindsight. “Better that than a Death Eater.”

            “You think I’m one of them?” Lucinda looked as Sage, offended, her hand on her chest. “I might hate you and all, but I don’t want you all to, like, die or whatever. I’m not a horrible person.”

            Sage looked at the girl, surprised but still angry. “Are you not though? Because by not differentiating yourself from them, you’re normalizing their beliefs and behaviours, and therefore giving them an advantage.”

            “...what?”

            “If you don’t speak out _against_ them, you’re supporting them. It’s just a fact.” Sage crossed her arms, “and by repeating their ideology, you’re supporting them even more. So although you may not like murder, you’re still a terrible person.”

            “Contrary to what you might think, Charles, that’s simply not true. I’m not supporting He Who Must Not Be Named.”

            “You’re still all about the things he’s about, though! Just because you have _some_ morals doesn’t excuse you.” Sage rolled her eyes and huffed.

            “I think you’re overestimating how much I care about your opinion.” Lucinda rolled her own eyes, subtly remembering where her wand was-- her right pocket. Right where she left it, just in case.

            “And? I’m still going to call you an idiot, because if you think not taking sides in this war is an option, you’re wrong. And you are taking a side because you keep spreading all this hate speech. You’re giving Voldemort and his followers a platform to build off of.

            “When you say shit about how terrible Muggleborns are, they have room to stoop in and add on to your comments that they should all die and whatever else ridiculous ideas they have.”

            “I’m leaving, Charles.” Lucinda rolled her eyes and gave a pathetic wave before turning and starting to walk away.

            Sage wasn’t done ranting, which was soon discovered by almost every single person she ran into (minus the time McGonagall walked by-- then, her voice turned softer as she spoke to Cecil, who was nodding his head and adding additional points).

            Even later that day, she had a scowl on her face which worsened whenever she saw one of the many students known to agree with You-Know-Who. Wendy had run off with Diana, who had agreed with Sage (“we’ve got to tell Voldy and all his loser mates to fuck off and die”). So she sat with her feet in the lake, attempting to not grab all the things closest to her and break them.

            She sat alone for a while, moving her feet slowly through the cool water, before the sound of feet stepping through grass alerted her to Xan’s presence. They sat beside her silently and handed her an ice-cold pumpkin juice, taking sips from their own bottle. Sage took a nice, long sip before looking over at Xan.

            “Thanks.”

            “Don’t mention it,” Xan didn’t return Sage’s look, staring out at the lake. They took another sip. “You know, you’ve really ruffled Lucinda’s feathers.”

            “Good. Her feathers needed a little ruffling.” Sage huffed. Xan glanced over, a subtle smile on their face. They said nothing else as they stared out at the water and drank. Sage did the same, feeling herself cool down with every sip until she was no longer feeling like going out and beating up Death Eaters (at least, not without a plan).

            When she drank the last drop, Sage turned her whole body to look at Xan. Xan, who was still taking small sips, looked over at her.

            “You’re a really good friend, Xan.”

            “You flatter me, Sage.”

            “Not enough.” Sage scooted over enough so she could rest her head on Xan’s shoulder. Xan sighed and rolled their eyes. They said nothing, though. Sage closed her eyes and felt the world around her-- the bottle in her hands, the water on her feet, the roughness of Xan’s shoulder on her head... She was going to miss this.

 

            “THE HUFFLEPUFFS!” Sage whipped around, confusion written all over her face. Beside her, Wendy had jumped at the sudden noise. They had been walking through a corridor, and suddenly through the silence, a yell was heard.

            “CECIL WHAT THE HELL?” Sage yelled right back, hand on her heart, as she saw the boy running up to them.

            “Sorry,” he said, slowing down, “I couldn’t come up with what exactly to call the two of you to get your attention because I didn’t want to act like I was prioritizing one of you over the other, and I’m excited.”

            “Why?” Sage asked, recovering from the scare. Wendy was still quite rattled.

            “Okay! So!” Cecil clapped his hands together, very obviously excited. “You know how we live in a giant castle full of endless mysteries?”

            “...yes…”

            “Well! Because for the first time we have nothing to do,” Cecil’s voice became hushed, “and I ran out of books and comics and I’ve read the ones I have so many times I’ve memorized almost every one of them,” his voice returned to normal, “I thought we could go exploring!”

            Wendy sucked in a breath, looking at Sage wearily. She seemed to be remembering the last time she had gone exploring. It ended with her having a good time, but her and Sage had gotten lost for... a while. A long while.

            “I dunno…”

            “Oh, come on, Wen. We won’t get as lost this time. Probably.”

            “You aren’t doing a very good job of convincing me.”

            “It’ll be fun! And Cecil probably knows what he’s doing.” Sage turned to the Ravenclaw. “Don’t you, Cecil?”

            “Er… yeah! I totally know where things are in relation to each other in this castle.”

            “Wow, you sound super convincing.” Wendy, clearly being sarcastic, pursed her lips at him.

            “Okay, so I know where _some_ things are…”

            “Do you? Because _I_ barely know how to get to my classes. I’ve been going from the same common room to the same Transfiguration room for seven years, but I still get lost on my way there.”

            “Psh, you have no adventurous spirit.” Cecil crossed his arms, taunting Wendy. Wendy shrugged.

            “I’m a Hufflepuff. It’s not _my_ job to be adventurous. Diana has all that covered for me, thanks.”

            “I’ll be fun, Wendy. Come on, we’ll enjoy ourselves.” Sage nudged Wendy, “just like last time.”

            Wendy pursed her lips, looking between the two of them. After a few seconds, she sighed and said, “oh, alright!”

            Cecil and Sage cheered as they high-fived, heading down a random corridor with Wendy following them reluctantly, mumbling about how, “ _they might as well be Gryffindors_...” and they were “ _totally going to run into Peeves_.”

            It took them about 5 minutes of turning random directions and going through random corridors for them to get lost.

 

            “JAMES IF YOU DON’T CATCH THAT I SWEAR TO-- oh, good.” Sirius, up in the air on a shitty broom he’d borrowed, watched James zoom around below him, holding the Quaffle and rushing it over to get it past Remus, who was acting as Keeper for the ‘game.’

            “SAGE, DEMOLISH HIM!” Wendy, in the stands, had amplified her voice to get her point across. Sage, following after James, gave Wendy a quick thumbs-up before focusing totally on him.

            She wasn’t trying her hardest, as it wasn’t a _real_ game, just something they all had felt like doing on a nice day. The breeze was blowing against her hot, sweaty skin, effectively cooling it and making her feel a world better.

            “GO SAGE! PUNCH HIM!”

            “Diana, she can’t punch him.”

            “Why not? It’s not a real game. Street rules.”

            Sage was right on his tail... he had a grin on his face brighter than the sun glaring down at them. They were approaching Remus, who was getting himself ready to block the ball. Sage flew up to James so she was touching his shoulder with hers.

            He looked over and gave her a smile she returned, before she leaned over and kissed his cheek (quite carefully) and stole the Quaffle right from his arms, quickly heading back while he was sitting stopped in mid-air, shocked. With his mouth open but still smiling, he turned around sharply, trying to catch up with Sage before she got to Cecil-- who wasn’t the best Keeper, but they appreciated his effort.

            “Oooh no…” Cecil attempted to brace himself as he watched the two of them get closer and closer… and Sage scored. As she cheered, James flew up to her and glared, a sour look on his face. She ignored this, grinning as she booped his nose and flew away. She looked over to where Xan was flying and gave them two thumbs-up. They were staring at Sage with a smirk, holding their bat in their hand loosely.

            “That was unfair!” Sirius shouted over at Sage, frowning.

            “STREET RULES,” shouted Diana. Beside her, Wendy rolled her eyes, smiling.

            “When does this game end?” Wendy asked, wiping off some of the beads of sweat falling down her forehead.

            “Well, considering there’s no snitch... never?” Peter, sipping on a pumpkin juice, shrugged from his spot close to the girls.

            “Oh, it’ll probably end when the boys realize Sage is too good at this.”

            “So... never?”

            “Ah, they’ve got to get it at some point... hopefully soon, because I’m dying out here a tad.”

            “Diana, honey, I am a puddle, and I need to go at some point soon so I don’t actually pass out. It is 500 degrees out here.”

            “Hm. I don’t get Fahrenheit.”

            “...fuck you.”

 

            “I dunno, I just think raisins can be nice in cookies.” James, his arm around Sage, told a shocked Sirius, who was looking at the messy-haired boy with his mouth agape. Sage was looking quite grossed out.

            “I cannot believe you, Prongs.” Remus, sitting on the floor, shook his head as if he was shaming James.

            “Wow. I didn’t know we were Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Wrong,” Sirius said, unable to stop the laughs he emitted immediately after. Peter joined him, Remus covering his mouth to quiet himself, while Sage snorted.

            “You all are so mean to me,” James said as he tried not to laugh as well. “All because I don’t mind raisins.” Sage pat him on his chest, not being very reassuring.

            “It’ll be alright, James,” she said, “they’ll realize this means you can eat the raisin cookies while they get more chocolate chip ones.”

            “Oh my-- I... she’s a genius.” Sirius looked at Sage with wide eyes.

            “You’re welcome for solving all of your problems.”

            “Wait, but what if I want chocolate chip cookies, too?” James began to act panicked, as if he might die from a chocolate-chip-cookie-deficiency.

            “You should’ve thought about that before you liked raisins.” Sirius shrugged.

            “It’ll be okay, James. I’ll save you.” Sage pat his chest again, keeping her hand there.

            “My saviour.” James brought up his own hand (the one not connected to the arm around her) and placed it over hers, swooping his head down to kiss her cheek. Her face scrunched up, but when he pulled back, she gave him a smile.

            “Pete, do you wanna play another game of gobstones?” Sirius asked, effectively leaving James and Sage’s conversation. Peter agreed, and Remus shifted his attention to the game.

            “I’m so not ready to leave Hogwarts,” Sage said, taking her hand back and draping her legs over James’, facing him.

            “I can’t believe we’ve gotten so old. We’re about to graduate…” James shook his head, taking his spare hand and adjusting Sage’s legs so they wouldn’t fall off the couch.

            “It’s unreal. Wendy said her parents got married when they were nineteen. I still think nineteen’s a far off number, but it’s not. I’m... I think I’ve gotten ready to grow up, but I still don’t want to.” Sage sighed.

            “I mean, we don’t have to grow up. Youth doesn’t really have an age.” James started tracing designs on her knee. “Although, I’ve got to admit, I do want to grow old.”

            “Oh?” Sage smiled at him, “and what would old James be like? Still blowing up toilets?”

            “Of course,” James grinned back at her. “I’ll be getting into all types of trouble. My grandkids, also troublemakers, will hear stories of my grand adventures and go on ones of their own.”

            “That sounds... authentic.”

            “What will old Sage be like? Still punching bigots?”

            Sage let out a laugh, her head falling back. “Forever,” she said. “I’ll be teaching my own grandkids how to, as well. Little Jimmy punched his first bigot when he was only four years old. Old Sage cried when she found out. The family legacy-- living on.” James snickered at this.

            “I hope so,” he smiled. It began to fade. “I hope you get to live a long time.”

            Sage smiled sadly, putting her hand back on his chest. “You’d better, as well. I want to see if that black hair goes grey.” She nudged him, attempting to lighten the mood.

            “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to comment on that sort of thing? How rude.” James joked right back at her. She gave him a real smile.

            “With all those tiny Jameses running around, you’re sure to age quickly. But it’s no problem,” Sage pinched his cheek, “you’ll still be beautiful when you’ve gone grey and gotten all wrinkly.”

            “You _do_ know how to flatter a man, Sage Charles.” James waved off her hand, sending her a smirk and an eye-roll.

            “Thank you,” Sage grinned, “I try my hardest.”

            “So... do you want to go upstairs?”

            “Oh, totally.”

            It wasn’t much later when Sage was laying on James’ chest, eyes closed. Underneath her, she could feel him take breaths and the warmth radiating off of him, trapped under the blanket thrown on top of them.

            “Do you think Muggles have a… machine, I think they’re called, which will let them create living things?” James asked, his chest rumbling.

            “I dunno,” Sage opened her eyes and looked up at him. “I’d want to say no, but they have come pretty far without magic.” She paused as James nodded, adding, “why?”

            “Oh, Moony and Wormtail were talking about this thing... It was like they were creating babies? But through ‘science’ or something. I guess they’re trying to. It’s strange.”

            “So like for people who can’t have kids?” Sage was totally, utterly confused.

            “Er, I guess.” James’ arm around her tightened a bit as he brushed his spare hand through his hair.

            “That’s nice.” Sage nodded, looking back down.

            “Do you want kids?” James asked. Sage’s head moved as she looked up again, startled. She hadn’t considered it. With everything going on, she was barely able to plan if she wanted to move out. Would there be somewhere to move to, with the war going on? Would there be a world for her hypothetical child to live in?

            “I don’t really know.” Sage watched him look up at the ceiling above them. “I mean, I think... I’d want to, but there’s the part of me that’s like ‘what about the war, Sage?’ but I think if I felt safe, I’d want kids. What about you?”

            James looked back at her with a smile lightly dusting his face. “I want kids. I’ve wanted kids for as long as I can remember. I’ve always been a sucker for the ideal, happy family.” Sage laughed, smiling at him.

            “That’s so cute, James.” She rubbed his chest with her hand, drawing circles on his skin.

            “Yeah…” He looked down at her hesitantly. “Would you... would you ever want something like that?”

            “I…” Sage let out a breath, “yeah. I’d love it. I just... I dunno, there’s a big part of me that thinks it’s not possible. It’s probably wrong, but... every time I think about or want something like that, part of me says it’s unrealistic.”

            “I’m sure it is.” James’ hand started tracing imaginary lines on her shoulder. “I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.” Sage’s face flushed, with her attempting to hide it by burying it in his chest. He just laughed, moving the both of them so he could kiss the top of her head. When she finally looked up at him again, he kissed her forehead, wrapping his other arm around her as well, effectively trapping her. She didn’t really mind as she huffed and lay still, unable to hide the smile on her face.


	33. Thirty-Three

            When James walked into his dorm, he was greeted with a cloud of familiar-smelling smoke and music playing. He stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and walked forward until he saw two people laying on the floor, next to a record player, with their eyes closed. They were laying somewhat close to each other, their heads inches apart and their bodies splayed out in different directions.

            “...what are you two doing?” James asked, making them open their eyes and blink slowly at him.

            “Oh, hey, James.” Sage sat up a bit, supporting herself with her elbows. Sirius didn’t move. “We’re listening to music.”

            “I gathered.” James decided to sit down, doing so by their torsos.

            “We’ve got a vibe going, Jamesy.” Sirius breathed out, adding to the smoke hanging in the air.

            “You’re both totally wired,” James said. Sage grinned and nodded. Sirius sighed.

            “And you’re not, Prongsy.”

            “I will be soon, after sitting in here. And I’ve got a meeting with McGonagall, Head Boy stuff.” James watched as Sage pouted, laying back down.

            “So you probably shouldn’t hang around here, mate.”

            “Have either of you seen my-- ah, there it is.” James stood, taking long strides to his bedside table and picking up the rolled-up parchment on it. “I’ll leave you two to your... vibe.”

            “Have fun,” Sage smiled at him as he left, waving. Once the door closed, so did her eyes. She focused back on the music, listening to the prominent bass and the lyrics (they were, at the moment, about how fucked the country was).

            “Do you think the war’s going to end soon?” Sage asked as a song ended and another far less angry song began.

            “I don’t know. I hope so.” Sirius’ voice sounded sad in a way reminiscent of a man sitting at the end of a bar, sipping his whisky with regret. “Do you think things will go back to the way they were?”

            “No,” Sage sighed, “things have changed too much. Ideally, things will get better than they were.” There was a pause before she finished. “They’ve got to get better.”

            After a brief silence, Sage spoke again. “My father was the type of person who agreed with them. The Death Eaters, I mean.” Sirius said nothing. Sage’s eyes stayed closed. “He left when I was about 5, but I still remember him being... hateful.”

            A memory flashed through her head. It was vague and hard to remember. Yelling took over all other noise. A hand grabbed hers, running and hiding. August held her close and covered her ears so it wouldn’t be so bad. She opened her eyes.

            “...what happened to him?” Sirius was looking up, his eyes scanning the ceiling.

            “He ran off to America.” Sage took in a breath. This wasn’t hard for her, but it was strange. Strange to talk about, strange to _think_ about. When she did so, it was less like she was remembering something and more like she was telling a story. On an exhale, she continued, “and he died. I was… nine, I think.”

            There was another silence. Sage remembered the day she had heard of her father’s death. The conflicting emotions which came with it, unhelped by the fact that August seemed almost happy while their mother broke into tears. On one hand, he was her father, and he had died. On the other, he had already gone. There was the slim chance he could’ve come back, but she didn’t want him to.

            “My parents aren’t members of his army or whatever, but they agree with him. I barely got away from them, and I’m still surprised sometimes I didn’t end up thinking the way they do.” Sirius let out a chuckle, “I guess I’m just too much of a rebel.”

            “The Black family’s black sheep.” Sage smiled as he barked out a laugh.

            “Yeah, that’s me.” He took in a breath, his smile unmoving. “Things are going to be better.”

            “They’ve got to be.”

 

            “And then, I told him ‘what do you mean, I look smug? This is my face.’” Sage snorted as Lily finished up her story, Diana beside her and dying laughing. Lily snickered. The three of them were walking down a corridor, going nowhere in particular.

            “Lily Evans, everyone. The queen of one-liners, now and forever,” Diana gestured to Lily, still giggling, prompting Lily to bow.

            “Thank you, thank you.” Sage applauded, grinning. A shadow passed at the end of the corridor and made the girls hush. The dark of the night outside of the castle made the only light source the torches on the walls.

            “Hello?” Lily called out, making Sage’s eyes widen at the red-headed girl. Was she _trying_ to get murdered?

            There was no response, unsurprisingly. The girls shrugged, suggesting they were ready to forget the interaction and continue on their way, but as Lily and Diana were sharing shrugs, a quiet noise came from where the shadow had vanished.

            So, naturally, the Gryffindor girls brought their hands to their wands and began to approach the source of the soft sound. Sage looked at the girls, unbelieving. They _really_ wanted to get murdered, apparently. Giving up, Sage’s fingers brushed her wand handle as she followed them.

            It was when they turned the corner that they saw who it was. None other than Severus Snape, trapped by a dead-end hallway. Sage’s hand gripped her wand as Lily let hers go, frowns on each of the girls’ faces.

            “Oh.” Lily’s voice, dripping with annoyance, caused Snape to scowl. Sage could see the desperate look in his eyes, though. “It’s just you.”

            “Let’s just go, Lily.” Diana touched Lily’s shoulder in an attempt to guide her away from the Slytherin. Lily said nothing as she scanned Severus with her eyes for a second before she nodded and followed Diana’s guidance.

            Lily didn’t look back, and Diana only did so to send him glares. Sage spent a second looking at him, finding him to be a horrid person. By the way he watched Lily as she walked away, the Hufflepuff understood he still had feelings for her. Sage scoffed, turning away from him and walking with the girls.

            “Ugh, I can’t believe--” Lily was ranting the second they got to Gryffindor Tower, which was luckily quite empty. “Do you think he was following us?”

            Sage watched from her spot on the couch, Diana on her one side and Marlene (who had joined once they got back) on her other, while Lily paced in front of them angrily.

            “Probably not, Lil. I mean, he was ahead of us. I think he was trying to avoid us, but... failed. The slimly git.” Diana muttered the last part under her breath, but it was still quite audible.

            “I haven’t had to look at him in so long... ugh! I keep remembering all the stuff he said…” Lily’s arms were crossed, her brow furrowed.

            “He’s a bigoted prick whose only friends are those Death-Eaters-in-training by his own choice. And he’s slimy. And a dickhead.” Marlene mumbled, mirroring Lily’s body language.

            “Why don’t we talk about something else?” Sage suggested, “I mean, I’m all for some healthy Snape bashing, but I think you two need a bit of a break.”

            “We’re fine.” The two girls spoke in unison, getting right back into it.

            Sage sat there awkwardly, not knowing if she should add something or not. She had things to add, for sure, but this seemed to be their rant time. So she stayed silent, nodding along, her eyes scanning the room slyly to see if she could find someone to rescue her.

            “Oh! Hello, Remus!” Sage sat up as the boy descended the staircase. The Gryffindor girls were still talking, unbothered.

            “Hello, Sage.” Remus smiled, looking at the girls and at Sage, curious. “What’s going on?”

            “Snape is a dickhead. Felt like it was time we remind ourselves.” Diana filled him in. He nodded, placing his hand on his chin so it was also covering his mouth, hiding his smile.

            “Ah,” he said, as if this had been obvious. “Of course. Have you all considered letting James in on your fun? He’d be _elated_ to join.” Remus’ face was beginning to show his smile, although his mouth was still covered.

            “Well, if he shows up and starts giving valid points, we’ll let him continue. But I don’t want to go find him.” Lily had stopped pacing, standing still with her arms crossed, facing Remus.

            “Understandable.” Remus nodded, taking his hand off his face, smile a lot more subtle. “Well, I’m off to the Prefect’s bathroom.” It was only then when Sage noticed the bag in his other hand, surely full of clothes.

            “Alright,” Sage smiled, calling after him as he walked out of the room, “have fun!”

            “Not too much, I hope. I like that bathtub.”

            “Lily, oh my God…”

 

            “I bet if we put them in here we can-- oh shit!” Sirius pointed at the Marauder's Map, looking up in horror when Filch walked into the corridor he and the other Marauders were waiting. Their plan was going well so far. Filch began to rush over to the boys, and James hurried to wipe the map clear and hold what seemed to be a bit of parchment behind his back.

            “What was that?!” shouted Filch, pointing at the boys. They stared at him, acting confused.

            “What was what?” James asked, curious. He adjusted how he was holding the map, making it so a corner of the paper was visible to Filch.

            “That, there! In your hand!” Filch got closer to James, who brought the parchment in front of him.

            “This? This is just a spare bit of parchment. Nothing to worry about.”

            “Oh?” Filch sneered, reaching for it. “Then you won’t mind if I just…” he made a grab for it, but James pulled it back quickly. The plan was going quite well.

            “Oh, it’s nothing, really.” James chuckled awkwardly. “Nothing important. You’d be wasting your time.”

            “Really?” Filch’s eyes didn’t leave the parchment. “Because I seem to remember seeing something... suspicious.”

            “Suspicious? Us?” Sirius acted offended. “Why, sir, we’ve never done anything suspicious in our whole lives. Not once, no sir.”

            Filch said nothing. He grabbed onto the map, pulling it away from James, who gave a bit of a fight. Once Filch got ahold of it, he waved it in their faces.

            “Nothing? Nothing! Hah!” the man grinned, “I’ve got you lot now, finally! They’ll take away those titles you two got…”

            “Oh no! You must give that back to me! Really!” James tried his hardest to seem desperate as he reached to grab the map again only to have Filch pull it away, out of his reach.

            “Oh, no. You’re not getting this back anytime soon.” He smiled, showing his teeth. “And since you’re to be leaving soon... I suppose you’d better say goodbye to... whatever this is.”

            “Surely you’ll give it back before we go, Mister Filch. It, er-- belonged to my late aunt’s grandfather.” Remus added, making the plan go even better. “A family heirloom, really. I’ve got to get--”

            “Oh, none of that! You’re going in two days, and I will be keeping this here!” Filch was damn-near giddy with a rather large grin on his face.

            “You four,” he pointed at them aggressively, “have been causing trouble since your first day at this school. If I would’ve had my way, you’d still be hanging my your ankles in the dungeons.”

            “Oh shit,” said Peter quietly, in a way which made all the boys have to pinch themselves to keep from laughing. Sirius hit Peter to get him to shut up.

            “Please, sir.” James was doing such a good job of acting desperate the boys would’ve believed him if they weren’t in on the plan.

            “Now, stop your begging.” Filch shook his head, still grinning. “I’ve finally got you all.” He giggled, turning and heading away from them. They were left, looking at each other anxiously, until he turned the corner, when they gave each other high-fives and grins.

            “My baby, in the hands of that man…” Sirius shivered, James mirroring him.

            “I thought the motorcycle was your baby,” said Remus, grinning. Sirius barked out a laugh, hitting the werewolf, as they began to head back to Gryffindor Tower, mapless for the first time in four and a half years.

 

            “You’re sure?” Sage looked at James wearily, hands on his chest as he headed to leave the castle. “Without the Map?”

            “It’s not like he can give us detention. And we probably won’t get caught. If we are, I’m Head Boy. Moony’s a Prefect. We’ll be okay.” James rolled his eyes playfully.

            “Oh, shit, I was going to take a bath in the Prefect’s Bathroom,” Sage looked away, brow furrowed. “I can’t tonight... maybe I’ll have time tomorrow.”

            “We’ll make time.”

            “Yea-- wait.” Sage looked at him with narrowed eyes, watching him grin mischievously. “Are you planning on joining me?”

            “Eh, why not? It’ll be our last day. Might as well have fun.” James watched as Sage began to smile as well.

            “Oh, alright,” she said, letting out a laugh. “Oh, you lot should bring my camera with you!” Sage started taking her camera out of her bag. James held out a hand to stop her.

            “Won’t you be using it?” Sage was ignoring James, taking her camera in her hands.

            “Nah, I can use Marlene’s. It’ll be fine. You should get a picture of the last bonfire the Marauders will have at Hogwarts.” Sage nudged the camera towards him. He took it hesitantly.

            “You’re sure?”

            “Yes! Now, go. Have fun, be safe, I love you.” Sage kissed both his cheeks, then his lips, before pointing towards the other Marauders, who were waiting for James to join them so they could head down to their spot in the Forbidden Forest.

            “I love you too,” James said, kissing her back before he ran to the boys. Sirius pat him on the back as they all began to walk.

            Sage watched them walk away, smiling as, at some point, they all broke out into laughter, their heads falling back. After a second, she turned and headed to go hang out with her own friends.

            It had been Peter’s idea to do one last Marauder bonfire on their last night at Hogwarts. The other boys had agreed wholeheartedly, and decided between them it would just be them- the Marauders. Just like the first time.

            Meanwhile, Sage was among a whole group of her friends, laughing and joking and enjoying herself, trying to ignore the part of her longing to stay at Hogwarts longer. Although she had told herself many times that she would be leaving and no matter how many times she tried to accept the fact that she would never come back, she still felt the longing to be at Hogwarts. At home. Where she had lived for 7 years, and where she had grown up.

            She had grown up. It was time to go, but she wasn’t ready to let go of her youth. Letting go of her youth meant letting go of the security Hogwarts gave her. It meant she was to be out there, in the world, unprotected. She would be greeted by the war, and she would face it head-on when she worked with the Order.

            But then, that night, she was still there. So she laughed, and she joked, and she took pictures, and she made promises to write to all her friends. And she enjoyed herself.

            Being around those who make you happy makes you high off the drugs you already have inside of you, just waiting to be activated. Some people have touches that, when they meet someone else’s skin, send a spark all the way through their body, through the veins, the bone, the flesh, to their brain, causing the whole thing to light up. Other people have this spark in simply the words they say. A simple greeting travels in waves into someone’s ear, electrifying their mind.

            Sirius was one of those people who could bring someone alive with a look. His grey eyes pierced into someone’s soul and saw all of them. The good, the bad, the regrets, the perks, all became obvious. He was someone who understood. When a conversation began, it was comfortable. There was no fear, as the person had nothing to hide. They had already been judged.

            James was someone whose laughs brought light in even the darkest of times. Just like the lion he was, he could roar with laughter which would encompass everything around him, coating everything in a golden blanket of joy. It brought a warm feeling, a tickling fire, to a person, starting at their head and filling them with cheer that travelled all the way down to the tips of their toes. Those who he wanted to be happy would be the second they heard his laugh.

            Remus’ words, although they were rare at times, were life-bringing. His way of carefully choosing what was said and what was not made every word, every syllable, every noise, every letter, count. He could build a wave of feeling with one word, making a whole ocean descend upon people. In the blue waters of his conversations, they were glad to drown, as soaking up his speech made people feel complete.

            Peter brought emotion through his support. When someone told a story, the nods and the reactions he gave were enough to inspire a multitude of new tales to be told. If someone was hesitant to begin a new, wild, teenage adventure, he was there to cheer them on and be the reason they took the first step into the unknown. He would be there, every step of the way, offering advice and encouraging whoever to keep going until they eventually came out the other side, cheering them on the hardest then. He could make them feel higher than the victory itself.

            And together, they were the boys who had met in their first year, to become the closest of friends. They were the boys who had been through so much, who had put themselves through so much, just so a friend’s suffering would lessen. They were the boys who had created as much chaos and caused as much havoc as they could. They had grown together, and they had seen the worst and best parts of each other.

            They were the Marauders. And soon, they’d be fighting in a war, side by side.

            They were the Marauders. And they’d vow to stay together.

            They were the Marauders. And in the coming three years, they’d go through hell. And when they came out the other side, they’d no longer be brothers. One of them would be dead. Their bond would be broken. But there, around the bonfire, they were forever together. In that moment, they were unbreakable. They were eternal.

            It’s an utter shame they couldn’t have stayed there forever.

  
            Sage woke up to quiet sobs. Rubbing her eyes groggily (she had stayed up way too late the previous night), she sat up and looked around the room, where the sunlight streamed through the windows in soft golden beams, the plants in the windows having shadows on where the beams ended. It was the kind of sunlight that came with the sunrise.   It didn’t take Sage long to spot Wendy, sat up in her bed, her legs pulled up to her chest, hand covering her mouth, as her shoulders shook. The light from the first star of morning was hitting her beautifully, gently caressing her dark skin and giving her a glow. She was radiating beauty. The sun gave her gold accents to match her perfectly.

            Pulling off her blankets, Sage sat up, rubbing her eyes one last time and letting her feet touch the wooden floor. She made her way over to Wendy’s bed, and only the lightest ‘ _pitter patter_ ’ came from her toes touching the ground. Sage placed her hand on Wendy’s mattress first, bringing up her leg so she could sit with one leg on and one off the bed. The feeling of Sage’s weight on the mattress made Wendy look up, teary-eyed.

            “D-did I w-wake you u-up?” Wendy’s voice shook as she looked at her friend, holding in more tears. Sage shook her head, saying nothing as she wrapped her arms around Wendy and brought her in close.

            Wendy sat there for a second, her arms awkwardly at her sides and her face against Sage’s collarbone, before she brought up her arms and hugged Sage back, bringing her hands up to Sage’s shoulders so she could wipe her eyes that began flowing freely.

            Sage’s hand ran circles on Wendy’s back, touching the fabric of her nightshirt. Bringing a kiss to Wendy’s temple, she listened to the soft sobs as they got more and more quiet, until they turned into sniffles, and Wendy pulled away from Sage and wiping her cheeks off.

            Giving Wendy a soft smile, Sage brushed a piece of her brown hair that had come loose from her bun out of her face. Wendy returned the smile, looking at Sage clearly with eyes free of tears. Sage had the glow morning light gave people. She looked... soft. And sleepy.

            “I’m sorry,” said Wendy finally, speaking softly as to not wake anyone else (and because speaking loudly in the morning was something unnatural, as quiet voices came easy with the calm silence of a morning).

            “Oh, hush,” Sage whispered back, waving a hand at Wendy as if to brush the comment off. She gave a serious look, “did something happen?”

            Wendy shook her head, wiping her eye again with a soft smile on her face, letting out a quiet chuckle.

            “No,” she said, voice still raw from the morning and the crying, “I just woke up because somebody’s cat stepped on me - I’m pretty sure it was directly on one of my kidneys - and through my drunk-with-sleep stupor I remembered it was our last day here, ever, and…” her voice broke, tears coming into her eyes again.

            “I love it here. So much,” Wendy wiped the tears from her cheeks again. “I’m going to miss it, so much. I keep having this idea that, because this is the only place I’ve lived where there’s magic everywhere-- or anywhere, really-- I feel like I’m going to go live in the Muggle world, and I’m not going to have magic all around me, when magic is, like, my favourite thing ever.

            “I dunno,” Wendy looked down at her hands, gripping onto her still-warm blankets, “it’s stupid.”

            “No, honey, it’s not,” Sage said, tilting her head (partially because she was still quite sleepy). “I totally understand. Hogwarts is a place of unimaginable magic. Leaving to go other places, even for me, is... sad. Magic is the most amazing force in this world, and to think you’re saying goodbye to it, even just a bit of it, is… scary.”

            “You know, Dumbledore would say love is the most amazing force on this world.” Wendy cleared her cheeks again, sniffling again.

            “Well, I dunno,” Sage smiled, “I guess.” She looked off at the window, staring at the plants on the sill.

            “Ooh, are you thinking about _James_?” Wendy teased, jabbing Sage lightly in the side enough to make her giggle (quietly, of course, as it was about 6 in the morning).

            “ _Maybe_ ,” Sage said goofily, swatting Wendy’s hand away. “What is this? Are we thirteen?”

            “I dunno,” Wendy giggled, Sage snorting.

            “I mean, talking about my crushes…”

            “Maybe we’ve been taken pity on and we’ve time travelled,” said Wendy, straight-faced. She didn’t keep the expression for long, as the second she met Sage’s eyes, the two burst into giggles, covering their mouths to keep from making too much noise.

            “Well, I dunno about you, but I’d rather not be thirteen again.”

            “Oh, God, I’d have to go through puberty _again_.” Wendy put a hand on her head as if to help a headache. Sage snorted again.

            “Plus, I rather like my relationships right now, thanks.” Sage glanced over at her bed, which was sitting empty, blankets messy. She looked back at Wendy, “and my character development’s been pretty admirable.”

            “What are you? A book character?” Wendy teased. She said under her breath, “pretty shitty book if you ask me.”

            “Hey! My life is plenty interesting, thanks.” Sage huffed, brushing another loose strand of hair out of her face. “Although, hopefully not interesting enough to make a book out of.”

            “Yeah, gotta be a bit chaotic to--” Wendy cut herself off with a yawn, covering her mouth and rubbing her eye, “I’m still really tired.” She chuckled and Sage nodded in agreement, trying to keep her eyes open although they grew heavier by the second.

            “I get your vibe,” Sage yawned, having caught it from Wendy. “Are you gunna try to sleep again?” Sage rested her elbow on the leg on Wendy’s bed, using its hand to support her head as it began to droop.

            “I’m pretty sure my body’s going to fall asleep again with or without my approval.” Wendy was mirroring Sage’s sleepy behaviours, stretching her arms above her head and blinking slowly.

            “I’m pretty sure my body’s already halfway there.” Sage laughed, it coming out more breathy than intended as her eyes continued to close, until she had to open them wide so she didn’t pass out right then and there-- she felt herself sinking into sleep.

            Wendy shifted herself so she was on one half of her bed, patting the other side as an invitation to Sage to pass out right then and there. Sage fought the urge to collapse onto the pillow and moved so she was sitting beside Wendy, under the blankets. Both girls were asleep before their heads hit the pillow.

 

            It wasn’t long before the girls had to get up for the day, still groggy, getting dressed while they double checked they had everything packed (minus the things they would still be using that day, of course). They walked into the common room, sulking as they greeted people. Sage ran a hand through her hair as she looked around at the cozy environment, wishing she could curl up by the fire with a book on a wintery day one last time. As this wasn’t a possibility, she just blinked slowly as she turned to Wendy.

            All the graduating Hufflepuffs sat together during breakfast, trying not to mope, using light-hearted conversation to hide the fact that they all felt the need to stay at school so desperately. It was in the middle of their conversation when Sage, who had just swallowed a bit of toast, felt two strong hands on her shoulders that began to rub, calming her muscles.

            “Hello, Potter,” Amos said, putting down his goblet and looking at James coldly. Sage turned her head so she could see a bit of James who stood right behind her.

            “Diggory,” he nodded at the Hufflepuff boy. James bent down to kiss Sage’s cheek, wrapping his arms around her. “Sage.”

            “Hello, James.” Sage smiled, bringing up her hands to touch his arms that went across her chest. He brought his mouth close to her ear, whispering something to her which made her face red, a grin spreading on her lips.

            Sage cleared her throat, James burying his face in the crook of her neck. “James and I are gunna… go.”

            With the others looking at them with prying eyes, Sage stood and took James’ hand as he walked her out of the Great Hall. In a corridor, he brought her closer as they walked, saying, “I told you we could find time.”

            “We’ve got to hurry, though,” Sage said, pointing a finger at him scoldingly. “We’ve got things to do today.”

            James waved her off, “psh! I know.  We’ll be done in time, and we won’t miss anything.” He pulled her even closer, whispering in her ear, “although I want to take it slow.”

            A shiver went down Sage’s spine as she took in a deep breath, feeling his hot breath fall out of his mouth and onto her ear. She squeezed his hand, pulling him down the corridor so they would reach the Prefect’s Bathroom.

            With her heart thumping in her chest rapidly, Sage rushed to tell the door the password (“squeaky clean”) and opened it, pulling James into the room with the familiar giant bathtub. She let go of his hand, walking up to the many faucets lining the pool-like tub, asking him for his input on what she should and shouldn’t add.

            It didn’t take long for the bath to fill, making Sage back up and take off her shirt as James entered the hot water. She joined him after a moment, wrapping her one arm around his waist from behind, her other hand wandering.

            They took their time, in the end. It was slow, passionate, and sweet, a sensual experience made special by the hot water around them and the bubbles floating everywhere and the wide open space, quite different from them being smushed in James’ bed. And the way sound echoed through the brightly lit room really made it for James, who very much loved the noises Sage made. But surprisingly, after they had left the bathroom, they weren’t running late for anything, and in fact had another hour or so before they were needed anywhere. So they spent more time together, finding a nice broom closet and hanging out there for a bit longer.

            But, soon enough, it was time. The seventh-years were gathered together, not taking the carriages to the trains like they had been doing, they were brought down to the lake. There, in the shining water, were boats reminiscent of those they had ridden to school the first time, all those years ago.

            Sage got into a boat with Wendy attached to her hip, and both girls let tears fall from their eyes as they looked at the world around them. The trees, those tall, dark, foreboding trees that almost screamed ‘keep out!’ but where Sage had sat around a fire with close friends and felt safer than she did in her own home.

            The lake the boats floated on, gliding through the deep, black water, Sage had been in too many times to count. Underneath its surface was a whole other universe with creatures Sage never knew. She thought of the windows in the Slytherin Common Room and how they looked out into the water in a way terrifyingly beautiful.

            The grounds, covered in green grass, had thousands of students’ feet trample over it over time. The greenhouses, someplace open to all, brought dirt underneath fingernails and calmed minds (unless you were dealing with some... rather unruly plants, of course). The Quidditch Pitch, where young witches and wizards could zoom around on brooms and play games which were mostly serious, but occasionally just for laughs.

            And that castle, with all its turrets and towers and chambers and secret corridors, all of which those students in those boats were saying goodbye to as they slowly floated away from it. On creaky wooden boats that cut through the water, a generation was leaving Hogwarts, going from the safety of the castle to a world where nothing could stop the dark but an immense light. Hopefully, some of them would bring the latter. Many of them would do the opposite.

            But, either way, they were all in for the same thing-- being adults. Ew.


	34. Thirty-Four

            “It’s been called the ‘gayest movie of our generation’.”

            “Now that you’ve told me, I literally will die a thousand hot, fiery deaths if I do not see this fucking movie. What the fuck.” Sirius Black stopped in his tracks as they made their way down a sidewalk, his hands shoved deeply in the pockets of the leather jacket he refused to take off although he was sweating from the sun beating down onto him and his friends, who had also stopped walking.

            “It came out... like... three years ago, I think?” Wendy stared off into the distance, eyes narrowed as she attempted to remember, one hand on her chin, contemplating, with her other scratching an itch on her upper arm, below where her short-sleeved t-shirt ended (it was Diana’s-- white with red trim and red writing spelling out the name of some rock band Diana raved about almost daily. Wendy may or may not’ve stolen it).

            “WHAT?!” Sirius’ hands came out of his pockets and one ran through his long black hair. “I can’t believe…”

            “Hey, well, it’s still playing in loads of places.” Wendy smiled, dropping her hands to her sides. “Because it’s so revolutionary and stuff, people are still putting it on.”

            “WE NEED TO SEE IT!” Sirius looked over at Remus, who was walking beside him, an amused smirk on his scarred face.

            “Maybe after we visit the record shop we can try to find somewhere it’s playing, yeah?” Sage, her hand in James’, suggested.

            Sirius whined but agreed, pouting the rest of the walk there, unable to hide the way his eyes lit up when they reached the shop. The group walked inside, eager to look at the newest things there was to offer. Spreading around the tables and looking at the records, they flipped through them and tried to find something new. It didn’t take them long, but they did end up staying for quite a bit.

            When they finished, Sirius reminded them of how they _had_ to go see _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ , and led the group search for the closest place with the soonest showing. Shockingly, they found one.

            Sirius sat in silence, grinning, the whole time. Occasionally he would look over at the others and make sure they were seeing what he was seeing. He had fallen in love.

            And the second the movie ended, he didn’t shut up - talking about ‘how good it was’ and how ‘the cinematography was the best ever and nothing will ever top it.’ Eventually, he went back to his flat, and only Remus had the willpower to hang around him while he wouldn’t stop talking. But, as it turned out, Remus had good ways of getting Sirius to shut up.

 

            Jets of light flew rapid-fire from the end of Sage’s outwardly-held wand. Her posture was textbook - elbow straight but not locked, shoulder in line with where she aimed - a training dummy which knocked backward slightly but bounced back after every blow. Her heart beat heavy, breath coming quick, as her skin gathered a thin layer of sweat atop its surface. A heat in her chest moved into her arm, sliding down the limb into her hand, her fingers, where it sparked out of her fingertips and into her wand and shot from the tip. Her lips parted slightly to let out puffs of hot breath but stay otherwise silent. The energy inside of her was fading out as time passed - she’d already been training for hours - but she continued, pushing herself further.

            The spots next to her were empty as she was the only one left training. The others sat in the other room, taking a well-earned break. Sage didn’t join them. They could afford to break - they were all naturally talented and succeeded without trying. As they were ahead of her, she had to work with no end to get the skill they were born with.

            So she waved them off when they called for her to join them in enjoying a cold pumpkin juice and went right back to work the second the door closed behind them.

            The lights slowed, only slightly, as she fell out of a burst.

            They fought so fluidly. James and Sirius mirrored each other, matching the other’s movements perfectly. Remus and Sirius fought back-to-back and seemingly became one person. As pairs, they were unstoppable, and as individuals they were unmatchable.

            Sage wasn’t like that. After practicing hard for months and forcing herself to improve, placing all her energy into it, she was still only _somewhat_ good. She was thankful for Sirius - he was the one who turned his spare room into a place she could train, the one who put all those protective charms and enchantments on the dummies - he was the main reason she’d come so far.

            Another burst of light hit the dummy, yellow and hot not unlike a miniscule sun, and a second passed before another came following after it. Sage’s pace slowed. A few more spells came from her before they stopped altogether and her arm fell to her side. She took a step back, no longer taking an offensive stance, and caught her breath. Her wand hand’s back ran across her forehead, catching sweat as it went.

            The clearing of her throat and the tightening of her ponytail later, she cracked her neck and moved herself back to the defensive stance she stole straight from a textbook. Her wand, held in a perfectly-shaped arm, rose slowly, pointed right at the dummy’s chest - where its heart would be, if it wasn’t made of stuffing.

            The door opened as she took in a deep breath (on the exhale, she was to shoot, using the air as fuel for her attacks) and cut her off. Her arm fell as she watched James and Remus enter the room, the pair sharing a laugh. James’ head was thrown back for a second, but when it fell back and his eyes caught Sage’s, she couldn’t help but smile at the sparkle dancing across hazel irises.

            His brow furrowed as he looked her over, though, and he moved closer.

            “Still working?” he asked, putting down his pumpkin juice on the table not far from where Sage stood and walking closer to her. Remus stopped at the table, leaning back on it and sipping his own drink as he looked at her.

            “Yeah.” Sage sounded much more breathless than she felt - apparently, the stabilization of her breathing was completely useless. James stood in front of her, reaching out his hands to hers.

            “You’re going to work yourself to the bone, Sage.” Behind James, Remus held his bottle in his hand loosely, his free hand touching the forearm of the other. James glanced back at the werewolf and then at Sage again, nodding.

            “I’ll be fine.” Sage’s grip on her wand tightened again. She pulled her hands away from James’ and let one leg take a step back.

            “Were you practicing the whole time we were out?” James reached out to touch her arm but she pulled it away from him, shaking her head.

            “I took... pauses.” Sage looked at the ground, away from James’ eyes which stuck on her sadly. Remus let out a loud sigh and sipped his juice.

            “Come on, Sage, why don’t you come... I dunno, sit on the couch with us or something? You’ve been working all day, practically.” James shoved his hands in his pockets, “I know you don’t want to go home yet. But we can just chill for a bit, yeah?”

            “...I should still practice more.” Sage itched her bicep, not looking away from the ground.

            “Sage…” James trailed off, unsure of what exactly to say to her.

            “How about we do one last thing?” said Remus, putting down his bottle. “And then you promise to relax?”

            “...what thing?”

            “Well, I dunno.” Remus shrugged, crossing his arms. “Something.”

            Sage thought for a second, before suggesting slowly, “I heard he’s recruiting more magical creatures... more giants and such.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Well, I’ve been thinking, what’s to stop him from getting more... terrifying?” Sage looked up, glancing between the boys. “What if he starts using dementors?”

            “Dementors?” James asked, turning so he could look at the both of them. “But they’re all loyal to the Ministry, aren’t they?”

            “They’re _supposed_ to be, but... I dunno, they don’t quite seem like the kind of creatures to say no to additional suffering.” Sage shrugged, “and we all know the Ministry’s trying their hardest, but with everything that’s happening, they’re not the most secure.”

            “So what are you thinking?” Remus stood straight, no longer leaning on the table. “Learning the Patronus Charm? That’s really difficult, Sage.”

            “Oh, trust me, I know.” Sage shifted her weight, “I already know how to do it, but--”

            “Wait, when did you…?” James looked at her, head tilted.

            “Oh, a while ago.” Waved off by Sage, James glanced at Remus, making eye contact which assured him he was not the only one who didn’t know she could do that.

            “I just… I dunno, I worry if I’ll be able to do it when there’s dementors around.”

            “If you can do it now, you’ll most likely be able to then,” said Remus, walking closer and standing beside James. “But if you’re worried, we could practice, I guess.”

            “I guess…” Sage trailed off, looking at the floor with furrowed brows. She sighed, looking back at them, staring James in the eye for a second before she took in a deep breath and raised her wand. In a moment, a silvery badger glided out the tip, bounding around in the air around them.

            James looked at the animal with a grin on his face that only got wider when he saw how content Sage looked. Beside him, Remus watched Sage, impressed. After a second, James whipped out his own wand and produced his own Patronus. A silvery stag appeared in the air, and immediately headed after Sage’s badger, causing her to let out a laugh.

            The two spectral animals played a game of cat and mouse, Sage laughing as she watched James’ stag leap through the air after her badger, who was zig-zagging all over, occasionally even through the stag’s legs.

            Remus watched this happen with a sweet smile on his face as he began to step away, moving to lean on the table and drink his pumpkin juice. As he took a sip, he watched James take tiptoed steps closer to Sage, as her back turned, sneakily wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. She squealed, laughing loudly and happily.

            Not long after, Sage joined them as they headed out into Sirius’ living room, where he and Peter were playing some kind of Muggle board game. They sat there, Sage in James’ lap with his arms around her, taking a well-needed break, laughing and chatting because whatever light they could bring to the dark times they were living in was necessary and, really, the only thing keeping them from drowning in darkness.

 

            “Oh my God, Sage, I’m so old. What the hell.” Wendy, freshly 18 years old, was not at all overplaying her distress as she spoke to Sage. “My parents were my age when they got married. My grandparents were a year older than me when they got married, and I think they had their first kid then, too. What the fuck.”

            “Wen, it’ll be alright, you’re not old.”

            “Yeah, I’m not _‘old’_ old, but I’m the oldest I’ve ever been. Like... I can remember being five, and here I am. Eighteen. What the hell.” Wendy flopped down onto Diana’s couch dramatically, Sage watching her with a smile.

            “Oh, stop.” Sage sat on the armchair across from the couch, “it’s not _that_ bad.”

            “How am I both so old and too young for stuff?”

            “For what? Getting married? I mean, none of us are too young for that kind of stuff. We’re all mature enough and such, but it’s more of a matter of whether we’re ready or not.”

            “...Sage, if you could stop with the ‘getting philosophical’ and such, that’d be great, as I am one-hundred percent not sober night row-- er, right now.” Wendy was shoving her face into one of the decorative pillows.

            “Hey, I’m also not sober and I happen to be in a mood to question the universe and the ‘higher meaning’ of shit. Like... don’t you ever wonder if any of us have a purpose? A reason for living? For being put on this earth?”

            “We don’t. We don’t have any reason to be alive other than we happened to be born. There’s no use wasting your time trying to find what your purpose is, because you weren’t ‘given one’ by the universe or whatnot. We all need to make our own choices. Why do you need to find a way to prove you were deserving of life? You’re already here. There’s nothing to prove to anyone but something to yourself. You don’t want to feel useless, but being useless is fine. Not everything has to have some reason why it's here. It just… is here. Like, I never use most of the utensils in my kitchen, but they’re still there, and that’s fine. Why push yourself to do something to change the world to prove yourself when you can change the world just because it's the right thing to do? I’m gunna pass out now.”

            “Wendy, that was bea--” Sage was cut off by quiet snores coming from Wendy, who had passed out.

            Diana walked into the room, mugs in her hands, as she had been in the kitchen, making tea for them all.

            “Sorry it took me so long, I had to convince myself not to make spaghetti. It was… hard, to say the least.” Diana handed Sage a mug she sipped cautiously, trying not to burn her tongue. “Is Wendy asleep?”

            Sage nodded, bringing her feet up onto the chair. Diana smiled, putting a mug on the coffee table. She sat in the other armchair, sipping on the third and final mug.

            “This was a long day, wasn’t it?” Diana chuckled, smile making the apples of her cheeks pop out. “I’m glad she got to enjoy herself, though.”

            “Yeah,” said Sage, watching Diana look at Wendy (whose face was smushed up against the pillow) lovingly.

            There was a sparkle in Diana’s blue eyes. Diana had something inside her that made her grab onto what she loved and not let go, holding on tighter because of the chaos around them threatening to take it away. And as she sat there, on a cheap armchair in her living room, drunk off of cheap alcohol (but not too cheap-- they were all old enough to know what happens when you go too cheap with booze), all she wanted to do was grab Wendy and never let go.

 


	35. Thirty- Five

            “Okay, you’re actually fucking kidding me, as there is no fucking way you are for real right now.” Sage took a step back upon seeing the tickets in James’ hands. “Those are fake and you’re a liar.”

            “Sage, they’re real!” James waved them in front of her, making her stare at him, eyes wide.

            “Incorrect.”

            “No, Sa--” James, grinning, showed them to her up-close, “they’re real! See-- _‘Quidditch World Cup_!’”

            “It-- oh my fucking... James, I’m going to cry.” Sage looked at him with tears in her eyes, quickly looking back down at the tickets. There was no doubt-- they were real. James had somehow snagged tickets for the 1978 Quidditch World Cup, hosted in Fiji.

            Sage couldn’t even imagine how amazing it was going to be-- the world’s best quidditch match, taking place on a beautiful beach? A thought went through her mind as she wondered what it would be like to ride a broom above the ocean, along the beach where she could feel a breeze coming from the water.

            “You’re going to the fucking…” Sage looked up at James again, “you lucky bastard.”

            James kept grinning. “Sirius and I managed to get four tickets--”

_One for each of the Marauders,_ Sage thought, staring into his eyes, lit up brighter than the sun. She was almost worried that looking at him too long would hurt her, but she didn’t care.

            “--Peter’s thrilled, you know how invested he’s been in the games so far, and Remus is staying back, of course--”

            “Wait, Remus’ staying back? Why? Is he a fucking idiot?” Sage, completely clueless, ran a hand through her hair.

            “No, no, he just-- you know he isn’t the biggest fan, and he said if we were going to get tickets we shouldn’t bring him, because it’s a bit of a superfan thing, you know.” James lowered his arm, holding the tickets at his side, saying slowly, “and well, er-- I thought, maybe, you might want to go.”

            Sage made a noise not connected to any sound from any language, but was universally known as something people said when they were totally and utterly shocked and bewildered. Her mouth hung open as he continued to talk.

            “So we got a fourth ticket--”

            “No no no no no, you didn’t.” Sage hushed him, unbelieving. James grinned.

            “And I was hoping you would join me for an adventure of summer fun, where we go lay on a beach and yell at Quidditch players.”

            Sage started to cry, silently staring at him. Finally, she whispered, “ _James_ ,” her whole body seeming to melt. She threw her arms around him, kissing his face all over, tears still flowing down her cheeks. Perhaps she was overreacting - she didn’t care. With how expensive those tickets must’ve been and how much she adored the sport, her ‘breaking down sobbing’ was completely justifiable.

            “I can’t--” a sob choked in her throat. “How much this means to me... this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

            “Oh, Sage,” James laughed, wrapping his arms around her.

            “I dunno how I’m going to make it up to you--”

            “Just come.” James pulled away a bit, looking into her red eyes. “That’s all I want. You’ll be with me, and we’ll enjoy ourselves, probably doing some stupid stuff because we’re still dumb, idiot teenagers…”

            He brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear, “and Sirius will be laying in the sun, saying how he’s gotta work on his tan, and Peter will build sandcastles, and we’ll be swimming in the ocean and fucking around and talking about our Quidditch theories, and possibly just fucking... it’ll be brilliant.”

            “You’re brilliant.” Sage looked at him with shining eyes, “and I want all of that, _so_ much. I can’t believe... you’re my favourite person ever, James.”

            “Well, of course I am. How could I not be?” he asked cheekily. Sage had to fight her instinct to hit him and instead rolled her eyes and wiped off her cheeks.

            “I love you,” she said, kissing his forehead again. “You cocky bastard.”

            James let out an exaggerated gasp, looking at her in fake offence. “ _Cocky_?! _Me_? How very untrue! Why, I have half a mind to take these tickets and--”

            “NO!” Sage reached out to stop him as he pretended to begin to rip the tickets. She knew he was joking, but... he _was_ one for dramatics. He stopped, head falling back in laughter, grinning at her with half-moon eyes.

            “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” James laughed, pulling the tickets out of her reach. She huffed, causing him to kiss her cheek.

            After pouting for a second, Sage looked at him seriously. “Really, though. Thank you, James.”

            “Ah, don’t worry about it, Sage.” He waved her off, still grinning. “I’m just glad you’ll be there. Without Moony, we’d get into too much trouble, but maybe, now, you’ll sort us out.”

            “Oh, please,” Sage scoffed, smiling. “If anything, we’ll get into more trouble.”

            “I’m looking forward to it.”

  
            Fiji was hot. Really fucking hot. But, as it was hosting the Quidditch World Cup, ¾ of the Marauders and Sage would suffer willingly.

            “Oh, holy fuck, it’s hot here. Oh my fucking-- take me back, James. I regret this.”

            “Pads, just take off the leather jacket.”

            “I cannot and I will not.” Sirius put his hands on the jacket protectively, ignoring the sweat beading on his forehead. “I have to keep it on. For aesthetic purposes.”

            “Sirius…” Sage turned to him with a tired look, making him frown. “James is wrong. The aesthetic is worth it. Use a cooling charm.”

            “Bless you, Sage.” Sirius pulled his wand out of his back pocket (he struggled a bit with this due to the massive backpack on his back) and pointed it at his jacket, a blue-white light shooting out of it and hitting the leather. He let out a sigh and grinned, putting his wand back into his pocket.

            “Right. Now that’s settled, why don’t we try to find where the hell we’re supposed to be? I don’t think standing in the middle of this clearing is-- oh, look!” James pointed to the end of the clearing, where palm trees were scattered. They all looked, seeing what he was pointing out. It seemed to be someone riding a broom though the air, swerving between trees.

            “I’m guessing they aren’t quite supposed to be doing that,” said Peter, “what if Muggles see?”

            “Oh, Wormy, where’s your sense of adventure?” Sirius pat the boy on his back, making him shrug and grin.

            “Let’s head that way, yeah?” James looked at the other three and began leading them, starting to sweat.

            “It’s so humid,” said Sirius, “I’m guessing my hair is already starting to curl up?”

            “Yes, actually. It’s pretty-- nice and wavy.” Sage inspected Sirius’ hair, finding the subtle texture looked quite good on him (though, to be fair, almost everything looked good on him).

            “Brilliant.” Sirius huffed, adjusting his bag. “Let’s go-- I think there’s a fire crab over there.”

            The four of them soon reached the end of the clearing, climbing the hill hiding their view. Their eyes all scanned over the newly-revealed area in wonder.

            There were multiple people in the air, flying around with other people (most likely officials attempting to stop the obvious use of magic) running on the ground after them and yelling with their wands out and fists in the air. The backdrop of a perfect blue sky and the occasional fluffy, white cloud seemed to be the perfect weather for flying in, making Sage want to join them.

            Below the fliers, on the ground which had turned from dirt and grass to rough sand, lay, in perfect rows, tents hitched up all over, reaching a certain point before they stopped. There was a gap of nothing but sand, then there was the ocean-- a crystal clear blue reflecting the sun.

            Many of the tents were regular muggle ones, but few had extra touches revealing they were most likely magical. One close by the group had a boa lying on the sand right outside of it, chained to one of the posts holding up a flap which created a bit of a refuge from the sun beating down.

            People were running around, many of which had already tanned skin. Sage could already feel her skin burning.

            She didn’t have time to do anything, though, as James had gone off again. He’d spotted what looked like a help desk, with a bit of a line in front of it. They all stood in the queue for a bit, silently looking at the world around them. Sage found herself enjoying the nature-- the trees and the sand and such, but she loved watching all the people, who had obviously come from different cultures based on the way they looked and sounded.

            The people directly in front of them were Japanese, obviously there to support Japan in the game, talking to the lady at the table in their native tongue. She responded in the same language and pointed off into the distant right. The people nodded and (presumably) thanked her and headed off.

            James spoke to the lady, who told him exactly where he was assigned to go. He stepped away and led the group again, all of them trudging through the sand which kicked up at their heels and engraved itself into the bottoms of their pant legs.

            Walking through the crowds of people was fascinating-- Sage loved seeing all the different witches and wizards and children and such. It was when they stopped at an empty plot when she stopped looking around to help put the tent up.

            “No, James, I’m quite sure you’ve got to--” Sage was cut off when something only about three feet tall barrelled into the side of her leg. She looked down at a young girl, no older than 4, who had rusty brown hair and bright blue eyes, grinning up at her.

            “Oh!” said Sage, smiling at the child, “hello there.”

            The girl was silent, smile still on her face as Sage crouched down to talk to her better.

            “Are you lost?” she asked, looking in the direction the girl had come from. The girl giggled.

            “No,” she said. She had a high-pitched voice and a heavy Australian accent. “I know where I am.”

            “Oh, alright.”  Sage grinned, “do the adults you’re with know where you are?”

            “Your voice sounds funny,” said the girl, ignoring Sage’s question.

            “Well, that’s because I’m from England.” Sage decided to humour the girl, as making sure she didn’t freak out was pretty high on her list of priorities at the moment, only topped by making sure she got where she was supposed to be safely.

            “My mum went there!” The girl clapped her hands together and jumped excitedly, “she was all over…” the girl’s brow furrowed as she seemingly went quite deep in thought. Sage sat patiently, waiting for the girl to remember whatever she was trying to.

            “Emma!” another heavily Australian voice shouted out from the tent on the plot to the right of theirs, a woman quickly popping out of it, her head snapping around frantically. “Emmaline!”

            The woman, who looked quite like the little girl Sage had just met, looked over at Sage and the girl, letting out a heavy sigh and cover.

            “Oh, Emma, I’ve told you not to run off on your own,” she said, pointing a scolding finger at the girl but looking quite relieved. “You know you can play in the tent, but there’s no leaving when either mummy or daddy aren’t with you, okay?”

            “I’m sorry, mumma.” Emma looked at the ground sadly for a second before she recovered and looked up again.

            “I was hoping her parents would be somewhere nearby,” said Sage as she stood up.

            “She didn’t cause you too much trouble, I hope.” Emma’s mother, a woman in her early thirties, sighed exhaustively.

            “Oh, no, none at all,” Sage smiled sweetly, rubbing her arm. She looked back down at the girl to address her. “We were just talking, weren’t we, Emma?”

            “She’s from Englan!” Emma said excitedly, clapping her hands together again.

            “England? That’s far,” said Emma’s mother, talking to her daughter. “Do you remember where that is, Emma?”

            “It’s... in... Erope!”

            “That’s right, it’s in Europe! Well done, Emma!” Picking up her child, Emma’s mother held the small girl in her arms, propped up on her hip, and turned to Sage. “Sorry about this. A great way to meet the neighbours, isn’t it?”

            “Oh, it’s no problem,” Sage grinned. “She’s a sweet girl.”

            “Thank you. I’m Caroline, by the way.” Holding Emma with one arm, the woman held out her hand for Sage to shake.

            “Sage Charles. Pleasure to meet you.” Sage shook the woman’s hand, still grinning.

            “You’re all rooting for Australia, I assume?” Caroline smiled, looking at the boys behind Sage who were still attempting to get the tent up (although they had stopped for a bit to watch Emma talk to Sage).

            “Yes, we all are-- after how England went down to Japan, we’ve got to.”

            “Lovely,” Caroline said, adjusting how Emma sat on her hip. “Hope to see you at the celebrations when we win!”

            “Most definitely!”

            “Wonderful! Well, I’ve got to get this little bunny back into our tent,” Caroline gave Emma’s tummy a tickle, causing the girl to let out a string of giggles.

            “It was lovely meeting you!” Sage addressed the little girl with a stern look offset by her friendly tone, “you better not get into too much trouble.”

            “I’ll be good!” Emma grinned at Sage, making her mirror the girl.

            “Alright, say goodbye, Em.” Caroline began to take steps away.

            “Goodbye!” Emma waved enthusiastically at Sage as her mother carried her back into their tent, Sage waving back with a smile. After a second, Sage turned back around and saw James looking at her, a sweet smile on his face.

            Sage took steps closer to them and the (still unassembled) tent, James quickly wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, slamming his lips on her cheek.

            “James,” Sage laughed, pushing him away, “we’ve got to get the tent up!”

            “But I can’t focus, and it’s hard, and you’re cute, and much more interesting.” He pressed his face into the crook of her neck. Sage rolled her eyes, a hand gripping onto his shirt.

            “We need someplace to sleep, love.” James groaned at this. “And we can be alone once we’ve got the tent up.”

            He pulled away from her slowly, looking at her. “You’re correct.” His hand went to his pocket, pulling out his wand, which he waved at the tent parts, making it assemble itself.

            “What happened to ‘doing it ourselves’, Prongs?” Sirius placed a hand on his hip, looking at James, who put his wand back into his pocket and wrapped his arms closer around Sage.

            “It’s hot and I’m tired,” James mumbled against Sage’s skin.

            “I can understand that,” said Peter, picking up his bag and walking into the tent. Sirius followed closely behind.

            “James, let’s go-- _James_ …” Sage gasped as he nibbled at the flesh of her neck, hands going to either side of his face and pulling him off of her, looking him in his eyes. “You bad boy. At least wait until we get inside, first.”

            He pouted, sticking out his bottom lip dramatically. Sage pulled him off her and stepped away from him, grabbing her bag and walking into the tent.

            “It’s my parent’s-- we haven’t used it since around third or fourth year,” said James as he joined the other three in the tent. It was quite lush on the inside, with multiple bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room, without being too big or too flashy.

            “It’s nice,” said Peter, putting down his bag and sitting on the couch. “Elegant but cozy.”

            James showed the boys where their rooms were, heading back to the living room where Sage was inspecting the record collection, brow furrowed and lip between her teeth as she read titles. He stood there for a second, watching her, eyes soft and full of adoration. He stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her neck, smiling when her head fell back.

            “Do you want to know where _our_ room is, my love?” he whispered in her ear, voice husky. She nodded, prompting him to grab her hand and drag her away, smiles on both their faces.

 


	36. Thirty-Six

            “I swear, we’re some of the only Europeans here,” said Sirius, eyes lingering on an attractive young couple lying on the sand in bathing suits, working on their tans.

            “Yeah, most of these people are either native, Japanese, or Australian,” said Peter as the four of them passed a man selling magical sunscreen (“no burns, guaranteed! If you’re red, try our cooling balm, a salve to calm even the worst of burns!”)

            “There was the group of women representing that American school,” Sage said, struggling to walk through the hot sand. Behind her, Peter was sweating through his t-shirt. “And those pretty French girls, and that group of German boys, and... yeah.”

            “I mean, I’m not complaining-- England can go suck a dick.” Sirius threw his beach towel over his shoulder, free hand brushing hair which had fallen out of his messy bun out of his face. He looked not unlike a swimsuit model, turning into a ‘punk hunk’ the minute after they had all decided to go down to the water.

            Nobody said anything as they on their way to the spot where the ocean met the land, the sound of the waves crashing getting louder and louder as they neared. Where the sand was dry, away from the water, it was a bright white and incredibly fine. Closer to the ocean, though, it turned dark and coarse. Where the waves hit it, the sand was less like powder and more like miniscule rocks - still sand, but much harder. Flying above where the waves stole earth, birds moved in circles, white hinted with black moving against baby blue skies only to land, sometimes on the sand and sometimes on the palm trees.

            There was a perfect spot, only steps away from the soft waves yet far enough so they wouldn’t be assaulted by water as they sat, where the group lay down their towels. With that, Sage and James took each other’s hands and walked the few steps, letting the waves bring water up to their feet before it took itself back.

            They walked along the water for a bit, leaving behind Sirius and Peter to guard the towels. Peter sat in the sand, not bothered by the fact that he was certainly getting sand stuck in the fabric of his clothes (a much-too-large t-shirt and shorts with an awful ‘tropical’ pattern on them). He was much too focused, as he discovered he greatly enjoyed the feeling of sand between his toes and fingers.

            Sirius, meanwhile, had one arm draped over his face to keep the sun from mutilating his eyes as he lay on his towel. Soaking up the golden warmth from the sun, he felt it hit his bare chest and was quite thankful for the gentle, cooling breeze coming from the ocean. The breeze kept him from panting like he had done the walk over.

            Sage hadn’t meant to go far into the water-- really. She walked, keeping to where the water would only reach her ankles, but as one wave receded and left her feet, another approached in a storm of white bubbles and blue water that smacked into her legs. The most of it went as far as her knee, but splashes of water reacted to the heavy impact to her legs and flew up, reaching the tops of her thighs.

            James stopped walking, bending down to touch the water that rushed away from his fingers. A lightning bolt hung off his chest - a necklace dangling from a worn, gold chain (luckily, he had remembered to put a charm on it so it wouldn’t be damaged by seawater). Sage let go of his hand, brushing some hair out of her face the cool air blew.

            She turned and began to take slow steps into the water, stopping whenever waves approached. Digging her feet into the sand, she let a strong wave slam into her front, going up to her hips and getting most of her lower swimsuit wet.

            The wave passed and Sage took two more steps forward, the water averaging out to her knees. Another wave come, this one smaller, only hit her thighs. She glanced back at James, who was looking off into the distance in a way that made Sage’s heart flutter. He was too pretty-- like a work of art. White bubbles touched his feet, almost reminding Sage of The Birth of Venus. Fitting.

            When she turned back to the ocean, a wave was already upon her which ended up touching her shoulders, getting her whole front wet, along with bits of her hair, still held up in a ponytail in an attempt to keep as cool as possible. Luckily, she didn’t fall over when the powerful wave hit her, as her feet were still embedded in the sand.

            _Well, if I’m already wet_... thought Sage, taking another, quicker glance behind her at where Sirius and Peter were still. Sirius was sitting up, a blinding grin on his face as he chatted with a pair of cute girls who had been walking by, Peter seemingly adding to the conversation. She looked back at the water, stepping into it more, so she was practically swimming.

            James looked back at her, narrowing his eyes as he saw how she was in the water where it reached her waist, occasional waves coming and letting her bob up and down. He grinned, going to join her (walking, though, as running through water is... strange and unpleasant).

            Sage gasped when she felt arms wrap around her middle, but calmed after he moved her ponytail and kissed the back of her neck, as she knew then it was James. She relaxed, just feeling the mostly warm water around her, with the occasional cooler shift in temperature. Sand shifted below and around her feet, still feeling like secure ground although it was unsettled.

            “Are you having fun?” he asked, resting his chin on her shoulder as she braced herself for another wave.

            “I’m trying not to fall over, and that’s taking a lot of effort, but yeah. This has been amazing and we haven't even gotten to the cup yet.” Sage let out a relieved sigh as the wave passed without knocking her down. James threw his head back in a laugh, kissing her cheek after.

            “I can-- oh, look!” James began, cutting himself off and pointing to a spot in the water close to them, where a fish had leaped out of the water slightly, before it swam off.

            “Okay, so that was cool and I liked it, but… why? Why did he do that?” Sage looked into the clear water, where there was nothing to see but sand.

            “I dunno. Nature.” James shrugged, bringing his arm back around Sage’s waist.

            “Cool,” said Sage, monotone. A second passed before the two of them broke out into laughter, her head falling back onto James’ chest.

            “Had you been to the ocean before?” James asked. Sage held her head up again, turning around so she could look at him properly, his arms still around her.

            “Yeah, but it was never like this-- all tropical and stuff.” Sage stared into his eyes, “how about you?”

            “I’ve been a few times, but it’s been a while.” he looked down, at the water surrounding them. Another wave hit them, but it didn’t do anything to them. “It’s just as brilliant as I remember, though.”

            “That’s nice.” Sage kissed his cheek, face scrunching up when she tasted the salt on his skin. She moved her tongue around and stuck it out, as if she was trying to get the taste out of her mouth. Another wave hit, reaching up and getting her ponytail quite wet.

            “Am I salty?” James watched her with a sparkle in his eye. Sage closed her mouth, a sour look on her face.

            “The ocean is salty. It makes hair look nice and wavy and stuff, but it doesn’t taste good.” Sage pouted. James laughed, letting his arms loosen, and took a step back and to the side, bending his knees so he sank into the water until he was just a head with his necklace floating in the water.

            “You look like a crab.” Sage laughed as he walked sideways, crouched down. Another wave came and hit her, but James floated up and down with the water.

            “Snip snip,” he said, reaching out to pinch her. She swatted his hands away, failing, as he kept trying to snap at her, eventually getting to her. She burst out laughing as he grabbed her, pulling her through the water towards him.

            “James!” she squealed, feeling her body become submerged in the ocean, his arms around her.

            They ended up playing in the ocean for a while, when they came out, Sirius was laying on his stomach, stretched out, singing some AC/DC softly. Peter had created a scarily intricate sand castle, with turrets and flags and stone carved into the walls. Sage ended up sitting next to him for a while, looking at it and complimenting various things she’d point out (“did you carve a hallway into this one?” “this tower has such interesting detail on the side-- are they vines?”)

 

            On the day before the game, Sage, James, and Sirius participated in a casual game of Quidditch, playing with and against some other fans around their age. Peter cheered them on as the game turned competitive after not too long.

            It was especially nice for James and Sage, as it was the first time they got to play on a team together, having been in different houses. And every time they played casually at school, their friends wouldn’t let them play together, as it gave one team an unfair advantage.

            They were a talented duo. As skilled players on their own, who collaborated well, they were playing brilliantly. The third Chaser on their team, a Australian 19 year-old, was also quite good, along with the three other players. Sirius was, once again, playing Beater, as it was his best position. He was good enough to have played on the Gryffindor team, but, as he told people often, didn’t want to be known as a team player. (“I’m a rebel. I don’t play well with others,” he had said as a twelve-year-old who just wanted to be accepted by his peers. He had really loved using ‘being a cold and rebellious asshole’ as a coping mechanism.)

            The game ended after not too long, as Sage, James, and Sirius were all sweaty and way too hot. They hurried off to the ocean, where they took a dip in their sweat-stained clothes to cool off.

            They headed back to their tent, soaking wet. Sirius panted with his tongue almost hanging out of his mouth. James had taken his shirt off and had it hanging out of his back pocket. Sage was trying to fan herself with her hand, and failing, but after the warning they had all gotten from the officials hanging around from playing Quidditch “right where Muggles could see!” she was walking on eggshells, and decided to wait until she got back to the tent to cool herself magically.

            And as they got closer and closer to the tent, Sage felt herself get more hopeful but more light-headed, ready to collapse wherever was the coolest. She had slowed, though, as she saw a familiar little girl outside of the tent beside theirs, this time riding a toy broom which was barely hovering over the ground.

            Sage was briefly reminded of the last time she’d seen Emma, when she was with her mother. Peter’d gone up to introduce himself, but it hadn’t ended well for him. Emma, being so young, didn’t have a filter when it came to things like saying possibly hurtful things. So when Peter had said, “hello, my name is Peter Pettigrew,” Emma had responded immediately with a giant smile, “that’s ugly.”

            Emma seemed to be having the time of her life on the toy broom. She had a grin on her face showing off her crooked baby teeth, a squealing laugh coming out of her mouth. Sage smiled, but quickly approached when she noticed the girl was alone again.

            “Emma, you seem to be having fun,” said Sage, getting the attention of the girl. “Where’s mum?”

            Emma looked away, turning the broom slowly and flying a few inches forward before Caroline busted out of the tent, sighing exhaustedly when she saw her daughter.

            “Emmaline!” she stepped forward. In one fluid motion, she picked up her daughter in one arm and took the broom in her other. “How did you get this out? It was supposed to be locked up!”

            “It floated down to me, mummy!”

            “Oh, no…” Caroline’s eyes widened, “I’ve got to tell Jack... at least you aren’t catching our living room on fire like Heather did with Lucy and Lyon…”

            “I want to play with the broom, mummy!” Emma began to flail around, crying. Sage watched, impressed, as Caroline kept her in place with her arm, no matter how dramatically she moved.

            “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Emmaline!” Caroline turned around, heading back into the tent, scolding her child.

            Sage watched them disappear before she kept walking into the tent, the boys with her. She collapsed onto the couch, taking in deep breaths and closing her eyes. James plopped down onto a chair, spreading his limbs out. Sirius laid down on the floor, taking up as much room as possible, all in an attempt to cool down and start breathing properly again.

            The next day, they were all prepared for the game, walking out of their tent and into the blazing sun, greeted by a crowd of people. Everyone had emerged from their tents and such to head to the arena. There were vendors advertising their products-- merchandise which would be used that day and then forgotten, but in the moment seemed like something they couldn’t live without.

            Everything was ridiculously overpriced, but things were selling, as people saw the things and fell into a temporary love and obsession. Sage watched a pair of kids running around a salesman, who looked at them exhaustively before shooing them off (“I told you two, you ain't getting nothin’ without paying!”)

            James and Sirius went wild, shoving basically all of their money at the vendors and picking out whatever they wanted. Peter, who was a bit red from slight sunburns (he hadn’t deemed them bad enough to spend the 25 galleons the healing salve costed, so he was waiting it out) was looking at books of all sorts of stats and information.

            Sage was looking at a poster of Australia’s Captain, Mia Merchant, watching the woman grin at her as her hair waved in the wind dramatically (if she’d been asked, Sage wouldn’t’ve denied she was looking at the poster just because Mia was really pretty).

            Something pushed into Sage’s arm, making her look away from Mia as  the woman caught a Quaffle from someone out-of-frame. Sage’s head snapped to the left only to see James with multiple things in his arms, including a pair of some sort of binoculars he had used to get her attention.

            “I would’ve thought you’d get more.” Sage smiled at him, turning her whole body to face him.

            “Oh, I wanted to, but I’m trying to save up so I can move out of my parents’.” James almost shrugged, but decided his hands were too full to do so.

            “Oh? I didn’t know you were looking to move out.” Sage’s brow furrowed.

            “Yeah, I figured I’m old enough to, now. Hopefully I can live on my own without dying,” James said, his voice humorous and face shifting funnily.

            “You better,” Sage laughed, hiding a frown. James had gotten her thinking-- should _she_ move out? Things _were_ tense between her and August, but... she didn’t feel ready to go off on her own. Should she? If James was ready - and he was younger than her, too - should she be moving out? She’d have to think of it more later. Hopefully thinking about it wouldn’t freak her out too much.

            “Anyways, I got you this!” James attempted to hand the Omnioculars to Sage, who looked at him protestingly.

            “Noooo,” she said, drawing out the noise as she refused to take them, no matter how aggressively he tried to shove them in her hands. “You already brought me here, you don’t have to get me stuff!”

            “But I want to! Just take them!”

            Sage opened her mouth to protest again, but she closed it and sighed after seeing the look he gave her.

            “Fine!” she took them, looking at him with a glare which softened after a second. She kissed his cheek, “thank you.”

            “You’re welcome.” He grinned, starting to shove all of his new stuff into his bag. “Where’s Peter and Sirius?”

            “Uhh…” Sage scanned the area around them, trying to see over the crowd. “Oh! There-- by that concession booth.”

            “Ah.” James took her hand and pulled her through the tide of people, over to where Sirius was inspecting the food board.

            “--haven’t heard of before, and I don’t know what they’ve-- oh, there you two are.” Sirius noticed the two of them approaching, turning to look at them.

            “We’ve got to get going- don’t want to get to our seats too late…”

            They walked further, getting closer and closer to the stadium. It was a gigantic thing, towering over them as they walked off of the sand and onto grass, made of steel and wood. There were people packed into the space outside the entrances, so James took Sirius’ hand and Sage Peter’s to create a chain so they wouldn’t lose each other.

            Their seats were up high, near the top row, with wind howling around them and cooling them off from the blazing sun above them. Waving around the Australian merch Caroline had given them that morning (“you’ve got to be certain people know what side you’re on!”), the four looked around the stadium, seeing all the people, banners, and advertisements (which were in about 6 different languages).

            It didn’t take long for the game to begin. Japan came out after a show involving a dragon (it was both terrifying and exhilarating) in their white and red robes and flew around a bit before Australia joined them, donned in green and gold, flying quickly and dramatically.

            Soon after, the game began amid shouts and cheers in hundreds of different languages coming from the stands.

            The game lasted almost 24 hours. Spectators took naps in turns to make sure nothing important would be missed. Sage tried her hardest to stay awake and watch, but at some point she rested her head on James’ shoulder and her eyes closed.

            She awoke to more screaming. Jolting up and looking around frantically, she noticed the score change, showing her all the goals while she had rested her eyes. The sun was high in the sky once more, beating down on everyone.

            Australia was behind, though not by much. The score was 430 to 460, with Japan leading by only 30 points. Sage quickly figured out the reason people were cheering was because the Seekers were chasing after the Snitch, which had vanished at the beginning of the game.

            The Australian Seeker, Sky Proby, was ahead by a slim margin, showing off the speed her team was famous for. She was reaching out her hand to catch the ball, when a Bludger slammed into the tail-end of her broomstick.

            She flew off in spirals, broom out of control, headed to the ground. As the crowd reacted, Takeshi Shinozaki pulled forward by a few inches, his fingers grazing the Snitch.

            Sage didn’t even see him catch it, but by the screams erupting from everyone, she knew he had.

            Japan won with 610 points to Australia’s 430. Fireworks went off and the Japanese dragon was released again (once again, terrifying) to fly around.

            Sage and her friends, although they hadn’t been rooting for the Japanese team, found themselves cheering along, drunk off the feeling from the atmosphere of the stadium. They went back to their tents with grins on their faces, unlike the scowls on the many Australians hanging around.

            And, although it was the middle of the day, they all fell asleep, exhaustion creeping up on them after their euphoric waves passed.

 

            Their last day in Fiji, ¾ of the Marauders and Sage decided to head down to the beach again, after Sirius’ suggestion (“we can’t _not_ go back before we go. I need to feel all the sunshine again, hear the water, see all those pretty people…”), and they spent most of the day there. By the end, although they had put on sunscreen, they were quite burnt and had to scrape up the money to buy the all-too-expensive healing salve (it didn’t seem to work very well-- or, at least, as well as the salesperson had said it would).

            James had actually gotten up rather early, and Sage joined him in walking down to the beach and watching the sunrise. It was sweet, and rather romantic. Sage wished she could’ve caught the sun on camera properly, but she settled for taking a candid of James as he bathed in the early-morning glow.

            She’d captured the light shining on him and the waves in the background, but what she loved most about it was the way his profile looked. He was an angel in the picture-- looking handsome as always, but with the added scene around him, he was truly heavenly (although the second after she took the picture he’d pounced on her and been less angelic and more mischievous).


	37. Thirty-Seven

            Sage returned home to a house unchanged. The air was still tense in the little cottage she shared with her brother. He still spoke to her, but it was always with a silent emotion she couldn’t figure out. And every time she tried to get close enough to see what exactly it was he was feeling, he’d pull away.

            They’d always fought - it was in their nature as siblings. Hell, when Sage was 4 and August 10, she bit him. Often. And hard. But never had their argument been about something so serious and dangerous. This was deeply held and complicated by their emotions. This time, there was a risk that the end of their conflict would be when one of them died.

            After her wondrous vacation, Sage was feeling lighter and happy, a changed person. But although her spirit was uplifted, she returned to the same boring and dark life. The war cast a shadow over the sunshiny mood she had gotten into.

            Luckily, Harold was there to keep things light. His little, owly-self was helping them talk more often (he gave them things to talk about - “oh, Harold’s been sleeping in the cupboard again!”) and making them smile, as animals tend to do.

            Things got worse a few days after her return on the day when she, along with multiple recent graduates, officially joined the Order of the Phoenix.

            A group composed of herself, the Marauders, most of the Gryffindor girls (Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, and Diana), and some others stood in front of real adults and swore their allegiance. There were Aurors from the Ministry standing beside Albus Dumbledore as he gave a speech to the new recruits.

            He spoke of death and destruction, of relying on those around you, even if you dislike them, because they were all fighting for a greater good. He told them of the hardships they would face, and how they would be far worse than anything out of their worst nightmares. By the end of it, Sage stood taller as she gripped onto James’ hand, secure in her decision.

            He asked if they all still wanted to join. Nobody moved.

            So they were shown around. Dumbledore quickly vanished and left them to the Aurors, one of whom left soon after as well, having been called away.

            “It’s nice to meet you all,” said the remaining man, a smile on his kind and freckled face as he spoke mainly to Lily Evans and the other Gryffindor girls. “I’m Frank Longbottom.”

            An arm wrapped around his shoulders as Sirius greeted him loudly, “Frank!”

            “Oh no.” Frank’s smile fell as he looked at the Marauders. He recognized them from his last year at Hogwarts - their first - and remembered all the trouble they caused.

            “Not happy to see us?” James let go of Sage’s hand to join Sirius, his voice boisterous.

            “You lot _do_ know this is a serious organization?” Frank shrugged off Sirius’ arm, facing the four of them.

            “It sure is, now that I’m here!” Sirius grinned, elated. Frank wasn’t as amused.

            “We’re going to rock your socks off, for sure.” James stood by Sirius, shoulder-to-shoulder. Remus had a hand massaging his temple and Peter was grinning.

            “We are ready to fight some Death Eaters!” Sirius clapped his hands together. Frank sighed, turning to address the whole group.

            “If you’d all head down this hallway, we can--” As Frank attempted to guide the group, James clapped him on the shoulder, thanking him before he and Sirius walked off down the hallway.

            “James…” Sage sighed, unable to hide her smile as she turned to Frank, “sorry about him.”

            “They are serious about this, Frank.” Remus stepped forward, his hand falling to his side.  “They have a habit of being humorous to try to lighten the mood.”

            Frank didn’t seem all too comforted, but he nodded and returned Remus’ soft smile before he went back to leading them, mostly ignoring all the funny commentary from the two boys. It did help, though, as the group ended up feeling a lot less like they were being brought to their deaths.

            The hallway was narrow and dark, with things on the walls which unsettled Sage. She didn’t look away, although she wanted to. She forced herself to look - she was going to have to get used to this kind of stuff. James made a joke about how they needed to decorate and “liven the place up a bit.” Sage almost laughed, but she stopped when she made eye contact with a man in a still image who appeared to have lost his body.

            “This room ahead is our main room,” said Frank, leading the group. “There’s a whole bunch of Charms protecting it, you know, so you can’t Apparate in here, you’ll do so into the front room we just left.”

            He opened the door and the group flooded in after him. It was cold, with a dark wooden floor and grey walls and had multiple doors and a couple windows with their curtains drawn. In the center was a circular table which took up a significant amount of room and was surrounded by a multitude of chairs (almost none of them the same kind of chair) and covered papers and such.

            On one side of the table, hunched over papers, with a mug of something steaming beside them, were three people. The two of them who were facing the new group looked up and over. One smiled over at Frank, making her face light up, while the one beside her remained uninterested. The third person turned around, curious.

            Sage made direct eye contact with her brother for an eternal three seconds. He was the one to look away, and he did so by turning back around to continue his conversation with the two other people.

            After staring at the back of his head for a few more seconds and biting down on her lip hard, Sage looked away and began to listen to Frank again. He’d been talking, but she hadn’t been hearing him.

            “--strategies, will not be forgotten.” Frank began to lead them more into the room, gesturing to the walls. “As you can see by the multitudes of doors, this room opens up into different hallways. Each one has specific places they lead to, including training areas and such. A few of these hallways are… dangerous, to say the least.”

            Frank looked at them all, lips pursed, “such as this one.” he grabbed one of the silver door knobs, twisting it and pulling the door open. It seemed like a regular hallway, but the look on his face told them all it was most definitely not.

            “Walking in here, you never get any closer to your destination. And the only way you can turn back is if someone lets you out. You’ll keep walking forever, no way out.”

            Sage leaned to get a better look, eyes wide. Standing up straight again, she took a step back and tried to remember exactly which door held the never-ending hallway so she’d never walk in on accident.

            “You’ll find your way around quickly, most likely. This door goes to the first training room-- it’s pretty small, but... it’s nice.” Frank kept walking, pointing at each of the doors. “This is the sitting room, the kitchen and dining area - they’re pretty small, too.

            “This is another bad one. It’s really dangerous, actually, which is why the doorknob’s different. Honestly, just... stay away. It’ll most likely kill you.” Frank pointed directly at Sirius, who had opened his mouth to speak, “ _don’t_. And you _don’t want to know_ , trust me. Gold door knob means ‘do not touch’.”

            Sirius’ mouth closed and his body language saddened for a second before he straightened his back and opened his mouth again.

            “ _NO_ , there is _not_ anything extra-special in there. It’s not a cool secret, just death.”

            “Lame.” James spoke up, making Frank’s nostrils flare. He took in a deep breath.

            “Less lame than dying before you turn 25.” Frank continued to show them around. Thankfully for Sage, he didn’t go over to where August worked (he was ferociously not looking up from the paper on the table) to introduce them to the three.

 

            It didn’t take long for Sage to find out what people thought of her brother. In the next few days, the new recruits were tested and worked hard, giving Sage time to socialize occasionally with other members of the Order. People didn’t like him very much.

            Aside from Dumbledore, nobody seemed to trust him. After making remarks on his superb duelling skills, people were quick to move on to say (in quieter voices) he had been a Slytherin.

            It was when one woman made a snide remark to Sage about August’s father being a Voldemort supporter when James felt the need to grab Sage’s hands (gently, but still firm) and keep her from hitting the woman.

            “I wouldn’t be surprised if good old daddy raised him with the same ideals, and he’s only convinced Dumbledore he’s a good man,” she said, ignoring the increasingly furious look on Sage’s face.

            “Excuse me?” said Sage harshly, her hands beginning to shake. James looked around frantically, trying to find someone to help him. Upon figuring out he was on his own, he attempted to lead her away, pulling her hands to guide her. She didn’t budge.

            “I mean, if it wasn’t _obvious_ by his house placement, he’s just been raised a certain way.”

            “How _dare_ you,” said Sage, her voice dripping with resentment. The woman’s eyes widened.

            “I beg your pardon?” she asked, under the impression she had done nothing wrong. Sage ripped her hands out of James’ grasp.

            “My name is Sage _Charles_ and I’m about to tear every single one of your arguments apart.”

            So Sage stood there (for too long), deconstructing every point the woman had made. As Sage spoke, the woman’s face went bright red, a total opposite of the stark white it had turned when Sage had said her full name.

            It was only when James was practically carrying her away when Sage stopped. She huffed, looking off in the direction of the woman who was no longer visible then at James. He pet her shoulders, kissing her temple as he tried to soothe her. The scowl on her face disappeared (or at least faded) after a bit, and they were able to get back to training (she may have been a bit more aggressive than usual).

 

            Their first mission came quickly. It was something small, just to start them off. There were only four of them going-- Sage, Sirius, James, and Alice Longbottom. Their goal was to sneak into a Manor being used by the Death Eaters and find information. Supposedly, this information would be in a central room in the form of written plans.

            It was explained to them in heavy detail although it was simple. Get in, get the plans, get out. If there are any Death Eaters around - they were warned there might be a few - they were to fight, but try to retreat.

            So at twilight on the second Friday in September, the four of them gathered together, going as a team to the manor.

            The manor was hauntingly beautiful. Surrounded by plants and the hush of the upcoming night, it screamed to them all to keep out, but they did not listen. They snuck closer to the manor, wands at the ready as they hustled through the increasingly darker night, going up to a wall made of stone.

            Alice led them as they walked along the wall, hushed and alert. The only sounds were their quiet footsteps and noises of the night. Sage’s heart beat out of her chest as Alice approached a secret side entrance they’d been told about (thanks to a man who was more concerned with saving his own skin than loyalty).

            They all entered a stone corridor barely big enough for them to squeeze through. It was pitch black, dark and dank, but they all made their way through it. It opened up to a tiny room with one wall made of wood which could be pushed on to open up into a corridor. Heading towards the central room on high alert, they walked slow. Feelings of dread bubbled in the pit of Sage’s stomach - it wasn’t like she had some supernatural feeling that something was going to go wrong, she simply knew it was more than possible for their mission to go horribly wrong at any moment.

            The manor was empty aside from the four of them, but noises made them feel as if they were not alone: creaks and groans of wood, hisses of creatures living in the walls, gentle howls of cold breezes with no sensible origin, and quiet whispers which came from no living being’s mouth. Sage felt a puff of wind touch her ear and thought it sounded too much like a whisper, nearly making her shiver.

            The walls were bare, save the rare torch lighting the way barely enough to see where they were going. They passed doors of different sizes, shapes, and colours, all of which were unsettling in some way. One had a deep, rusty red colour splattered all over it and the floor below. One smelled scarily close to rot and decay. One had screams come from it as they passed which sounded just like those of their loved ones. Sage would’ve stopped if Alice wasn’t so determined to keep moving forward.

            The central room was not empty. Voices came from inside - a laugh, more specifically, which was in no way warm at all, instead like the laugh of someone long mad.

            “ _It only sounds like two,_ ” whispered Alice to the three others who listened intently. “ _We can rush them. I know we were supposed to avoid all contact with them, but... we really need those plans._ ”

            After the three gave confirmation in the form of curt nods, they moved into position. Alice led them as they stood right outside the door. Taking in a deep breath, Alice took in a deep breath and blew down the door. The impact sounded like an explosion, but a second later the door hit the ground and crashed, making a noise which bounced off the walls deep into the manor. So much for stealth.

            The dust cleared as Sage’s heart beat at the speed of light, revealing the two people who had been chatting in the room. There was no warning before a jet of green light came bursting out the doorway at them, narrowly missing Alice, who had slid out of its fire just in time.

            Sage’s stomach was either shrunken down to 1/100th of its size or had left her body. She took in a quick breath and held her wand in front of her, pointed at the two Death Eaters.

            “Is that my dear cousin?” the owner of the chilling laugh asked. She held out her wand, the one who had shot the killing curse out the door.

            “Oh my fucking-- of course.” Sirius’ shoulders fell, a scowl falling over his face. “Hello, Bella.”

            “Oh, Siri! It’s been _so long_! You haven’t been showing up to any family reunions, your brother misses you.” She cackled again, high pitched madness emitting from her blood-red lips, sending a shiver down Sage’s spine. “Your dear old mummy doesn’t!”

            “That’s nice. See you’ve not gotten any less insane,” said Sirius. Bellatrix scowled, stabbing her wand forward as she took a step closer and shot another spell in a fluid motion. Sirius dodged and responded to her spell with one of his own, sparking a whole tirade of sparks to fly from both sides.

            The fight went well for the most part. The Death Eaters took shelter behind some boxes and tables inside of the room, while the rest stay just outside, protected as they stood on either side of the doorway. When a spell came from behind the Members of the Order, things went wrong.

            A slash made its way through Alice’s side, dark red liquid quickly travelling out of the wound and spreading onto her shirt. They all turned around, backs to the stone wall, and saw two men.

            They were both obviously bad guys, dressed in dark and flowing dramatic robes, wands out. One had his pointed straight out, but the other held his at his side lazily, bored.

            The bored one had pale skin, offset by his jet black hair and the dark robes. Head held high, he looked at the Aurors with a sneer. The man beside him Sage knew - he’d been at school with her. He was one of Severus Snape’s friends.

            Alice had her left hand over her cut, holding her wand out nobly. The man Sage did not know paid her no mind, listening to his counterpart whisper in his ear. His eyes flashed over every one of them, cold and calculating. Sage made eye contact with him and saw nothing. This man had no room for emotion but hate.

            “Thank you, McGhurty,” said the man. Nobody moved but him, frozen under the atmosphere he carried around.

            “You all must think you are quite noble, do you not?” he asked. Sage knew if any of them answered, they would’ve died. But, being Gryffindors, they were about to-- but he continued.

            “James Potter, Alice Longbottom, Sage Charles, and... Sirius Black.” He paused. “It is indeed a shame you have not joined me.”

            “And why would we?” asked Sirius, scoffing.

            “Pure blood like yours should not be spilled during the fight to cleanse the world.” He took a step forward. Every one of the four tensed, holding their wands out. “I do not want to hurt you.”

            He turned to Sirius and Sage, who stood together on one side of the doorway. “You two... you come from long, noble lines of pure blood with a proud history. Your antecedents understood the way of the world.

            “Sirius Black.” He stepped forward, voice smooth and commanding. The way he spoke made silence fall and brought a sense of unease. Listening to him felt like standing in a large, dark room, where it was impossible to see anything and the feeling of an imminent attack overtook everything but all which could be done was stand still and wait to be harmed. Any sound or movement could mean death.

            In response to his name and the man’s unyielding gaze, Sirius tensed his jaw and rotated his wand, ready to attack. “So many in your family have joined me. Your brother has promised himself to me upon his graduation. Yet... you hesitate.”

            “The House of Black is full of pureblood supremacists and I will _never_ agree with them, or with you.” Sirius was practically spitting at the man, who frowned, but moved to Sage.

            “Sage Charles.”

            The sound of her own name made a shiver go up Sage’s spine.

            “Your father and I were housemates and good friends. Although your mother withdrew him to Scotland before he could join me, I know he agreed.” He held his hands in front of himself elegantly, speaking calmly as if he was just a concerned mentor.

            “I was quite distraught to hear of his passing. He was a good man. And your mother.” Sage tried not to grind her teeth. “Holly. Her death was a tragedy.”

            He drew out the “was,” implying he knew more about the death than what was on the surface. Sage felt herself falter, but she quickly reminded herself, _this man is manipulating you. He doesn’t know anything about mum. Even if he did, it doesn’t matter now. She’s dead - it’s done._

            “I kept up with you and your brother when Cyril died.” Sage felt another shiver run down her spine. The thought of this man looking after her made her head spin. “Although your house placement was... unfortunate, I can overlook it. Before he passed, Cyril must’ve taught you the true way of things - he certainly did your brother. August is a skilled dueler, I’ve been told, and was in the most noble of the houses.”

            Sirius rolled his eyes. The man opened his arms slightly, as if welcoming a hug he didn’t actually want.

            “I owe it to Cyril to look after you. Please, Sage Charles, I wish to welcome you and August to my command.” The man smiled at her. His shiny teeth stared at her, seemingly innocent. But she knew his bite would be full of venom just as his words were full of hate.

            “Neither I nor my brother will ever join you,” Sage hissed. His frown deepened. Her heart slowed as a strange calm fell over her. For a moment, she thought of how she might die there. Her head told her it was more likely she would end up on the floor, lifeless, than walk out of that manor.

            The others appeared to have realized this as well and glanced at each other quickly. Sirius grabbed Sage’s arm with a firm grip. With a nod to James (who was supporting Alice), he disapparated, bringing Sage with him.


	38. Thirty-Eight

            “Where are we?” asked Sage, looking around at the open area around her, unable to see far due to the darkness of the night. They were outside, with the moon and stars visible above them.

            “A park not far from my flat,” he said, looking around them cautiously. When he was sure they were alone, he let go of her arm and let out a breath, a shaky smile appearing on his face. “That was a wild ride, wasn’t it?”

            “Who was that?” Sage’s brow furrowed. Sirius’ smile fell. “That man.”

            Sirius paused before he responded. His eyes looked at her and away as if he couldn’t decide if it was better to look at her or not as he told her. “He was Voldemort.”

            Sage felt like he had just placed a weighted vest on her. She had basically told Voldemort - _the Voldemort_ \- to fuck off. How she wasn’t dead, she didn’t know.

            Her hands began to shake again as she looked around frantically, tears springing into her eyes. “Where’s James?”

            Sirius put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes, forcing her to look at him, her breathing erratic.

            “He’s okay,” he said. “I don’t know where he is, but... he can take care of himself.”

            Sage knew he was okay. Despite how nauseous she felt, and how frantic she had become, she knew he was alive and safe. He had to be.

            “I can’t--” she pressed her palms into her eyes, trying to calm her breath. It came out of her lips in hot puffs, turning into breathy laughs. She put her hands at her sides, looking at Sirius. “I just met the Dark Lord.”

            He chuckled, nodding exaggeratingly. “Yep. The Lord of Darkness.”

            “I’m... I cannot believe…” she let out another breath. “Are we going to go back to Headquarters?”

            “Yeah. I didn’t want to Apparate there, just in case they tried to grab onto me.” He chuckled awkwardly, “‘d not be good.”

            “Most definitely.” She smiled, letting out a laugh, “can you imagine... our first mission, we give up the Order’s location after telling Voldemort to go fuck himself.”  

            “Merlin, we’d be fucked.” He laughed, but then his eyes fell to Sage. Gently, he asked, “did you know he and your dad were...?”

            Sage let out a breath before she answered candidly. “No. I mean, I knew... I knew my dad had the same ideas as him, but I didn’t know... I didn’t even realize they were the same age.”

            Sirius didn’t say anything - what could he have said? There were no words. All they could do was take a breath and wind down from the wild night they’d had. After they were feeling a lot more light (Sage was still quite worried for James and Alice), they apparated to the Order’s front room.

            “You know what we should’ve done?” Sage asked as they began to head through the unsettling hallway. “Gotten ice cream.”

            “Ugh, we should’ve!” Sirius grabbed the door handle at the end of the hall. “We could, if we wanted--”

            Sirius was cut off when James’ arms wrapped around him as soon as he opened the door. James had his eyes squeezed shut and only opened them when he let his death grip loosen to move onto Sage.

            “I was so worried,” he said, speaking into Sage’s shoulder. She hugged him, rubbing his back, breathing in his smell and feeling almost fully better. He pulled away from her so he could talk to the two of them. “When you didn’t come back right away…”

            “We’re okay, James.” Sage had an arm around him, her thumb gently brushing back and forth. “How’s Alice?” The woman wasn’t in the meeting room.

            “Okay. She’s being fixed up.” James took in a breath, “the look on Frank’s face when we came in…”

            A silence hung in the air as they looked at each other, suddenly very thankful for still being alive and eternally grateful the others were as well.

            “So much for a simple, get-in-get-out mission,” said Sirius, sighing. James smiled weakly.

            “I can’t imagine how ‘real’ missions are going to go.” James chuckled.

            “Hopefully,” Sage said, “we’ll come a little less close to death.”

            The group laughed - they could only hope. But their dream wouldn’t come true - they’d get closer and closer, brushing by it until they would finally meet.   


            James cried when he said goodbye to his parents. He had found a place of his own, and although he was practically giddy with the idea of living alone, he hadn’t done it before. And he really loved his parents.

            Even though he wasn’t moving too far away and he would be able to visit whenever, James was going to miss them. His mother wiped his tears away, looking at him with her own watery eyes, and kissed his forehead, telling him to be good. His father had given him a bone-crushing hug before James took a step back, sniffing, and waved just as he disapparated.

            His friends were already in his new place and greeted him with pizza they ate on the shitty chairs James had gotten one too few of, making Sirius sit on the floor.

            It was a beautiful night. They ate pizza in James’ cheap flat, talking to each other about something unrelated to the war, sharing metaphorical warmth radiating from them all, mingling together to create good vibes all around.

            And when James went to sleep that night, he stared up at the ceiling and wondered if this - what he was feeling right then, alone in his flat - was what being an adult was like. It was a lot less chaotic than he thought it would be, but that might’ve just been because at the moment he was calm. The dark was peaceful.

            It was also a lot more lonely. Most of the past seven years of his life had been spent in a room with multiple other people. Even the past few weeks, he at least knew his parents were somewhere nearby. To be alone always... he felt a little empty.

            _I’ve just got to get used to it_ , he thought to himself, turning his head to look out the window. _It’s just strange and new, that’s all. Once I’ve gotten used to it, it won’t be so lonely anymore. And all the privacy I’m going to get... nice._

            He looked to his right side. Usually, when he looked to his right, he could see Peter’s bed. But there was no bed there, and Peter was in his own home.

            To his left, where Sirius slept... nothing. There was the window, but nothing else. Sirius was in his own flat, where James had a sudden urge to apparate. But he didn’t. He just looked back up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. Everything was going to be okay - he’d lived the summers in his room alone, he could do this.

 

            It was the next day when Sage got a job working in a bookstore in London. She was still living in France with August, but now she apparated to London every day. Her hours were flexible, which was good for working with the Order.

            Her boss was a little old man who seemed at first glance to be a bit of a pretentious prick, but was actually a very sweet person who was just bursting with knowledge he was eager to share. He didn’t talk down to her but treated her like his equal.

            On slow days when the shop was empty, he’d sit with Sage and tell her stories of the many adventures he had gone on in his youth. It was fascinating, and Sage found herself looking forward to when customers would leave and he would fix a pot of tea for them.

 

            Wendy had been having an internal conflict for a while. She hated the war - despised it. She wanted to do whatever she could to put an end to it, but what she could do wasn’t what was needed.

            She couldn’t hurt anyone. She wasn’t just a shit fighter; there was an overwhelming part of her simply unable to do harm upon another living being. No matter how angry she got, no matter what the consequences were, she just couldn’t.

            So what was she to do? As so many of her closest friends got ready to fight, she stayed behind. On the day they all joined the Order, she sat at home and tried not to feel useless.

            Her greatest fear was looming over her all the time. She was just waiting to have some person she didn’t know apparate to her and tell her all her friends were dead. If she had been there, maybe she could’ve helped. She could’ve saved them. She wouldn’t be so useless.

            Wendy was overcome with guilt for something that hadn’t happened. And no matter how many times Diana and Sage told her she didn’t have to, Wendy needed to do something.

            But how could she, when even the thought of sending a harmful spell someone’s way caused her to get nauseous?

            It was when Sage showed up at her house with a nasty cut under her eye when Wendy broke. No longer would she sit and wallow in self pity - she went straight to Dumbledore, marching into his office and asking with a fire in her chest what she could do to help him.

            He had given her a warm smile from where he sat at his desk and offered her a candy. She’d taken it, and a seat.

            She left his office later a member of the Order of the Phoenix. She was to work with the organization and planning, and also in the Ministry to aid the war efforts. Nobody would be harmed directly by her hand, but she would be making a difference. It was perfect.

  
            James was dying. Living alone, he had discovered, was incredibly boring. What was there to do? Have friends over? Go out? Lay on the floor and debate with yourself why your landlord refuses to change the colour of the walls in the hallway? Did they have a personal connection with the colour gross? How had they managed to find a colour which could only be described as gross?

            He’d been settling for hanging out with friends whenever possible. Even simply laying on Sirius’ living room floor with his head in Sage’s lap as she ran her fingers through his hair was a blessing.

            She was humming some song he had never heard but had already fallen in love with as she took off his glasses and put them on the floor beside her so she could kiss the bridge of his nose properly, ignoring how he scrunched it up.

            When she stopped humming, he opened his eyes and squinted at her, a blob. “What was that song?” he asked.

            “Oh, it’s French. There’s a record at home... it’s really beautiful.” Sage yawned. “We should listen to it some time.”

            “I’m going out.” Sirius entered the room, putting his hair up into a bun. “I need groceries. You two can stay here or whatever. I don’t care. Just don’t fuck on my couch.”

            “Oh… kay?” said Sage, watching him leave. The door closed behind him, leaving James to grin up at her (she still looked like a blob).

            “Do you want to fu--”

            “James, we are _not_.” Sage’s hand stopped running through his hair. He pouted.

            “Fine.” He huffed and sat up more, sitting beside her. “Do you want to hang out here, or go somewhere?”

            “Hm…” Sage thought for a second. “Well, now I really want to listen to that record... August’s out right now, I know…”

            “Have I… have I never been over to your house?” James took his glasses off the floor and put them on before looking at Sage (who was no longer a blob, but her regular pretty self).

            “I don’t think so…” Sage stared at the wall as she tried to remember. “...no, I don’t think you’ve ever come over. Strange, isn’t it?”

            “Yeah. I mean, you’ve talked about it a lot, and I know about it and the village or whatever, but I’ve never been there.”

            “You should come. We can listen to the record, I can show you around… it’ll be nice.” Sage brushed some hair out of her face, “are you up for it?”

            “Yeah, totally,” James grinned and stood, offering her a hand she took to stand beside him.

            So they disapparated into the kitchen of Sage and August’s cottage. James looked around as Sage apologized for the clutter (it was a small kitchen, so everything was placed close together).

            It was unbelievably cozy and quite adorable. As Sage gave him a tour - including her room with a pile of dirty clothes on the floor and multiple other things scattered around - before they moved to the living room. He sat down as she flipped through the records in a bin beside the record player.

            When the music began, she plopped down on the couch next to James and laid down, placing her head in his lap, letting him brush his hands through her hair like she had done with his.

            The music was complex in execution but simple in its message and idea. It was romantic and sweet while still tragic and intense. The whole record was one long composition of smaller songs that melded together to become a full story like the chapters of a book.

            It was the kind of music you listened to the first time you fell in love. It was the kind of music which hung in the air, unheard, when you were with someone dear. Somehow, somebody had taken the unsung music from a certain moment and recorded it for the world to hear.

            Some would recognize it and look back at their first loves. Others would know exactly what it meant, as they felt it at that moment. And some would hear it and have never felt the music before. But when those people heard it, they would imagine what being in love was like, looking to the future to when they would feel it themselves (and then there were those like August, who were uninterested in romance. These people would enjoy the music anyway, thinking of how happy it made others).

            At some point, Sage and James started to dance, slow and smooth. The air swirled around them as they hung together in an endless moment. There was love in the air, from both the record player and from them.

            When the music ended, they were laying together on the window seat, breathing slowly and letting the sunshine coming from the window drape over them in a warm, golden blanket. Heads laying on the pillows laying on the cushioned seat, they closed their eyes and were together, breathing slow enough to make themselves drift off.

            James awoke both groggy and energetic. He rubbed his eyes and fixed his glasses, frowning, as Sage had left him. He sat up, yawning as he looked around the empty room. Outside, the sun had gone down in the sky and was close to setting.

            She wasn’t in the living room, but there was light coming from the kitchen. So he stood, cracking his bones, and yawned one more time before he walked to the kitchen to lean in the doorway.

            Sage was sitting on the counter, a cup of tea in her hand. She had been staring off at nothing, but when he entered, her head snapped over to him, lips breaking into a smile.

            “I made tea,” she said as he walked over to her. He kissed her softly, tasting the liquid on her lips and pulling away with his own smile.

            “I’m glad you had me over,” said James, taking the mug Sage offered him. “This place is nice.”

            “Yeah, it’s practically my dream house.” Sage grinned. “A little small, but... lovely anyways.”

            James nodded, sipping his drink.

            “That’s nice,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

            “A little.” Sage shrugged as she lowered her mug.

            “Do you want to come over? I can make you dinner. Peter’s been teaching me how to cook so I don’t starve to death. Of course, it won’t have meat, though, because I’m still the one making it.”

            Sage laughed before saying, “that sounds lovely,” and hopping off the counter. Just as her feet touched the ground, the front door opened. A few seconds later, August walked by the doorway to the kitchen, leaving the front door closed behind him.

            He turned to enter the kitchen, rubbing his eye tiredly, but froze when he noticed James.

            “Hello, James…” August’s brow was furrowed as he spoke slowly. He took another step forward, “wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

            “Sage brought me over to listen to records. We were just about to head out.” James payed special attention to the way August moved; he was on alert and looked only at James. He only glanced at Sage once when he had entered.

            “...right.” August swallowed. There was a tenseness hanging in the air. “I’m going to…” he took a few steps backward as he spoke, “go to bed.”

            He turned around, heading into the darkness of the hallway. Sage let out a sigh. James looked at her in concern, but she just put her mug down and looked away from him. “Let’s just go.”

            “Alright.” James took her hand and put his own mug onto the counter. A moment after, he smiled at her and apparated them to his flat.

            When they arrived, Sage immediately let go of his hand and took a few steps towards a window, running a hand through her hair. James watched her as he turned on a lamp.

            “So he’s still upset with you?” James hoped-- James _prayed_ this the right thing to say. Sage sighed.

            “He hasn’t really spoken to me since he found out about our first mission. He heard, hurried to come find me, hugged me, then told me I needed to quit. I said I wouldn’t, so…” Sage inhaled deeply, turning to him with a smile, “enough about that, though. What’re you going to make me?”

            James eyed her for a second before he decided not to push her. Maybe he’d ask her later, but for moment he just smiled back at her and told her he’d make her anything her heart desired ( _no, not that. He didn’t have the skill or supplies to make-- not that, either-- or that... he’d never even had that before_ ).

            They ended up just having spaghetti.

  
            “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Kippit - just sit down, I’ll put the kettle on. You’ve been on your feet too long.” Sage waved her boss over to a chair he reluctantly sat in before she turned to make hot water. The shop was empty, and it was unlikely anyone would be coming in, as it was only about 5 minutes before closing time.

            Sage’s hands fumbled with cups and kettle and such, pouring water into mugs and turning away from the counter with them in her hands to face one of the many bookshelves the shop was stuffed with.

            She walked between the bookcases, balancing cups while her jeans swished together, feet scuffling across the wooden floor. After a few steps, she came upon the front of the shop, where on the front wall there was more window than actual wall. Golden sunshine peeked over the other buildings on the street and into the shop as the sun began its descent through the sky.

            Against the windows were two old and comfortable armchairs which reminded Sage of those she sat on to do her Transfiguration homework in the Hufflepuff Common Room. Sage felt odd not being at Hogwarts, and had ever since the beginning of September, of which it was now the end.

            Between the chairs was a small wooden table almost completely covered by a lamp and various books Sage hadn’t gotten to putting away quite yet. On the edges of the table were old coasters Sage placed the cups upon. Mr. Kippit, who was sitting on the armchair to the left, took the one closest to him and thanked Sage with a smile.

            Sage waved him off again before she turned to the right upon glancing at the clock. Her hand reached out to flip a sign on the door to show the shop was closed.

            But just as her fingers brushed the surface of the sign, Sage noticed a familiar looking man rushing down the other side of the street after emerging from an alleyway. Her hand froze, eyes following him as he crossed the street in a hurry, rapidly approaching the shop. He made eye contact with her just before she glanced over at her elderly boss, who was sipping at his beverage and flipping through a book.

            Sage knew exactly why he was there and took a step back so he could open the door. For appearances’ sake, she asked, “Remus?” just as the bell rang, making Mr. Kippit look over at them. “Is something wrong?”

            “Sorry to barge in, but we need you, Sage.” The werewolf’s fingers had not moved from their spot just outside of his pocket, where his wand lay. His skin brushed against the fabric, alert. Sage had seen this, and his body language, as he rushed through the street, and knew something was up with the Order.

            The Scottish girl was suddenly very bad at coming up with a lie clever and well-rounded enough to pass as the truth for the man (who was, in the moment, looking between the two teenagers curiously) she deeply respected. So she just stood for a second, making “uhm” noises, until she clicked her tongue and said, “alright.”

            Sage turned to the old man, “I’m so sorry, Mr Kippit, but... I’m going to have to go.”

            Mr. Kippit had a sparkle in his eye as he smiled at Sage, “that’s quite alright, Miss Charles. You go on, now.”

            “Thank you, sir.” Sage sprung forward, pushing Remus out the door and heading out as well, poking her head back into the shop to say goodbye before she reached her arm to the back of the door and flipped the sign so the general public knew the store was closed. She closed the door behind her, hand replicating Remus’ as it shot down to where she could grab her wand at a moment’s notice.

            “You’re a bad actress,” said Remus, smiling as he hurried back to the alleyway with Sage at his side.

            “Oh, hush.” Sage smiled as well, though it fell when they got to the alleyway, empty aside from a cat at the end who was attempting to grab a mouse which had skittered into a hole at the wall cutting off the other end of the alley. “What’s happened?”

            “Another raid. A few Muggle bystanders. All dead.” Remus’ tone, which had been joking only seconds before, turned somber. Sage swallowed. He took his wand out of his pocket in one fluid motion. “And there’s a retrieval mission going on right now, too, to get back the witch from Germany who they’ve taken control over. Half the Order is dealing with her, and the other’s moved to the raid. We’re needed there.”

            “How many?” Sage’s breath was shaking. How did Remus look so calm? Sure, she could see the way his eyes were darting around and the way he was standing - like he was listening for any strange noise that could mean danger - but he seemed more alert than scared.

            “There’s about three dead. Six or so Death Eaters, I’m uncertain.” Remus took in a slow breath, his eyes brushing over Sage. “And I’ve got absolutely no idea how many of us there are.”

            “Alright.” Sage closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders back, shaking her hands as if she was letting her anxiety pass through her fingertips and away from her. Her eyes shot open and she grabbed her wand, holding it pointed down at her side.

            Her thumb brushed over the familiar wood as her other hand grabbed Remus’ arm. He looked at her, eyes melancholy. She nodded and took another deep breath in just as he apparated them into a battle.

            It was in a backyard of some poor Muggle’s house - no doubt the three who were dead were those who used to live there - where the sparks and jets of light were flying from different directions. Sage hurried to use a protection charm as a blue light shot right at her, aimed directly at where her heart lay in her chest.

            Sage was trying to get a sense of where the fuck she was and who the hell was there while also fighting for her life. She sent a disarming charm as her eyes scanned the row of Death Eaters - eight of them, a few of their number some she recognized. One was from school (they’d been a few years older than Sage), and about four different ones she’d seen on her various Order missions. Three of them were new to her, and as usual, all of them were men.

            Sage guarded herself as she and Remus melded into the wall of Order of the Phoenix members. To her right was one of the Prewett twins (she thought it might’ve been Fabian. She was wrong.) and to her left was Patrick Katy, a 27 year-old man whom she found rather funny (he hung with the Prewett twins often).

            There were other members there, like Peter, who was on the other side of Patrick, and Frank and Alice, on the other side of the twins. Sirius and James were a bit ahead and to the right of Frank, taking turns guarding and attacking.

            Sage’s arm was getting tired, but she pushed through it. Her heart beat wildly as the world around her lived in chaos. Loud noises surrounded her, darkness overtaking the sky while the sun set, the only light from the moon and the spells.

            It was hard to imagine, in the moment, that the rest of the world was (mostly) calm. Sage was unable to think somewhere, a father was tucking a child into bed, humming a sweet and calm tune that broke through the silence of night, or somewhere else, teenagers younger than her took each other by the hand and ran, hair blowing behind them and all hazard thrown to the wind as they let their energies mingle. The chaos around her overtook everything. It was so strong, it eliminated the very idea of any reality where it did not exist.

            This was the first time Sage saw someone die. It happened in a second, with a jet of green light flying towards them all just like the others had. But this spell could not be deflected and hit Patrick right in the chest.

            If Sage would’ve imagined it before it happened, she would’ve thought he staggered back, a look of shock on his face before he dropped his wand dramatically. He’d fall to the ground, eyes fluttering closed as he took his last breath, his pulse slowing as it followed his heart, eventually stopping.

            It did not happen like that. The instant the spell hit him, he was on the ground, eyes open and life gone. He was dead. His face didn’t look calm or peaceful, but he didn’t look scared at all. He just had the face of a man who was fighting in a war he wouldn’t see the end of.

            It was only when Peter grabbed her arm and yanked her away from another green light that she realized she hadn’t been moving. She had been seeing and hearing the battle go on, but she had become a ghost, her hands limp at her sides as she watched Patrick, as if she was waiting for him to get up.

            Peter didn’t know what to do, so he just pushed her behind him so she could stare at the ground in silence and not die. He shot spells wildly, sweat on his brow. He had almost forgotten Sage was there, but was reminded when she stepped up to him, sending a red light at the Death Eaters. It was sudden enough to hit one, causing them to fly backwards and hit the fence surrounding the Muggle’s yard.

            There were a few less Death Eaters at this point, some of them unconscious. The second the count of fighting Death Eaters went down to four, the remaining ones disapparated in puffs of black smoke which rose into the sky and twisted away unnaturally.

            A sigh of relief washed over the yard but faded quickly when they all realized one of their own was dead. Silence hung in the air, drastically different from the sounds of battle which had just been overtaking the area.

            Nobody said anything as a Prewitt leaned down and picked him up, quickly disapparating along with his brother.

            Frank Longbottom began to walk to the other side of the yard, where there was only one, still unconscious, Death Eater remaining.

            “They’ve taken the others,” he said. He, Alice, and the others began to discuss what to do. Sage didn’t listen, as all she could do was stare down at the patch of grass Patrick had been taken from. His eyes were still open when he was being carried away.

            James broke away from Frank’s conversation, slowly backing up and taking steps towards Sage. He stood next to her, eyes calculating and tongue dry.

            “I watched him die.” Sage’s voice was raw but steady. James’ heart fell and his chest felt as if it had been filled with lead. What was he supposed to say to that? He wanted so desperately to help her, but he had no idea how to fix things. This wasn’t something with a solution. Patrick was dead. He couldn’t just sing to her and make her feel better this time.

            So he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead. She didn’t move and her eyes stay open. “We need to go back, don’t we? To check in and stuff?”

            “Yeah,” he whispered, glancing over at Frank who was leaning down to touch the Death Eater, disapparating after he’d gotten a grip on both their wrists and had grabbed their wand. “We won’t be there too long. After, you can go home or come to my place, whatever you need.”

            Sage nodded, eyes closing finally as she swallowed a lump in her throat. The pair apparated to the Order’s headquarters, when James finally broke away from her and took her hand to lead her down the creepy hallway.

            It was after they’d checked in and been checked on when James looked at Sage, of whom he had not left the side of, and saw the way she sat silently, staring at the floor as she had been since they got there.

            He leaned over, whispering in her ear, “do you want to go home?”

            She nodded.

            A few minutes later, Sage was sitting on her bed, knees against her chest, shoes thrown on the floor. James kissed the top of her head, stroking her hair, and asked, “do you want me to stay?”

            She nodded. So James hurried to take off his own shoes before sitting on her bed with her, moonlight streaming through her window.

            Sage looked up at him finally, eyes dull. He took her by the arms and moved her over so she was sitting between his legs, letting her lean on his chest.

            Her hands grabbed at his shirt, eyes squeezing shut as she suddenly remembered once when she and Peter were enjoying tea with the twins and Patrick hung in the room, doing some other thing she couldn’t recall. Patrick had said something funny to her, and shot her an ear-to-ear grin.

            He never really talked to her. She didn’t know him. But it didn’t help.

            Her shoulders began to shake as tears formed in her eyes, flowing down her cheeks as she let out a sob. James sat still, his own eyes closing as he swallowed. He hadn’t seen anyone die, not yet. Patrick had been out of his field of view-- he hadn’t even known he died until the battle stopped.

            Fuck, he didn’t want her to go through this. He didn’t want any of this to be happening, at all. He wanted so badly to grow old. He wanted the war to end before it killed everyone he loved and stopped him from getting too old.

            He wanted to be like his parents - to settle down with the love of his life and just... be happy. Have kids. See those kids get older and find themselves. Have lunch with his children and their significant others, like James and Sage had done with his parents a few times over the last couple months.

            But the war-- the _goddamn_ war, was stopping him, and he was going to fight like hell so it would let him _fucking live_. That’s all he wanted to do. Have a happy life.

            And was it so terrible that there was a part of him that was happy, in that moment? He had been so lonely lately. Living by himself was such a shift, and he _thought_ he was going to get over it, but he _couldn’t_. Nights alone were killing him. Having Sage pressed up against his chest made him feel whole, but the way she shook and sobbed and sniffed broke him up again.


	39. Thirty-Nine

            “And then stir it again.”

            “Stir it again…” Sage picked up the spoon and stuck it into the pot of thick liquid. “No particular way, right?”

            “Nope,” James grinned. He was pretty sure Sage had no idea what day it was. She had come over for dinner anyway, demanding he teach her how to make good spaghetti. At the moment, they were working on the marinara sauce. Sage, who was a stellar potion maker, was enjoying cooking greatly.

            “Alright.” Sage gave it a stir, the red liquid bubbling slightly in the pot Sage held by the handle (she’d learned to do this early on). “What next?”

            “Next, we cover it up--” he stood - he’d been sitting on the counter - and grabbed the pot lid, placing it on the pot gently. “--and turn the heat down--” his fingers adjusted the knobs on the stove, “--and let it sit there while we wait for the pasta to finish.”

            “Alright.” The Scottish girl took a step closer to James, bringing her hands behind his back and looking him in his sparkling eyes. He had a grin on his face which made him seem soft, his eyes crinkled up slightly. Sage pulled on the sleeves of her sweater so they covered most of her hands. James leaned over to brush his nose against hers.

            “You’re so cuddly,” he said, fingers brushing over her sides, touching her yellow sweater. “And soft.”

            She let her head fall back in a laugh as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. A squeal came from her as she jumped back from him upon feeling something wet and slimy run along her neck.

            “James!” She attempted to escape him, but his arms wrapped around her middle, keeping her in place. He pulled her closer to him, effectively lifting her up off the ground and holding her against him.

            She squealed once again as his tongue ran up the side of her neck unceremoniously. He let her feet touch the wooden floor again, lips attaching to her neck, blowing on it to make funny noises. Sage laughed, trying to worm away from him, but he just kept blowing on her neck.

            He only let up when the timer went off to signal the pasta was done. Sage took advantage of his loosened grip and escaped him in a flash. He pouted, but continued guiding her through cooking anyways, teaching her how to drain pasta, turning off the stove’s active burners and watching her stir the marinara sauce again.

            James put out two plates, scooped pasta onto them, and turned to Sage as she gave the sauce one last stir.

            “Taste?” he asked, gesturing to the wooden spoon in her hand. She rolled her eyes but smiled, putting the pot down and scooping out a little of the sauce, keeping a hand under the spoon so it wouldn’t spill.

            “It’s hot,” she warned, bringing it up to his face. He nodded and let his lips touch the spoon, tasting it. He grinned at her.

            “It’s good, lovely.”

            Sage’s face lit up. “Really?”

            James nodded, “yeah! You did a good job!” There was a sweet moment where they shared loving looks before James continued. “I mean, you had a stellar teacher, so…”

            Sage rolled her eyes and put the spoon back into the pot. “Oh, shut up.” She scooped out a bit for herself to try, bringing it up to her mouth when a big droplet of red sauce fell onto her sweater.

            “Ah, shit--” Sage put down the spoon, hands fumbling with attempts to stop the sauce from staining her sweater. Sure, she could remove it with magic, but it’d be better if she just got rid of it then. But it didn’t look like it was helping.  

            Her hands reached down and pulled off the sweater; it got stuck for a second on her head, pulling on her bun (which was already quite messy) before popping off. James stood there, watching her as she brought the sweater over to the sink, turning on the water and trying to only get the stain wet.

            By the time she had finished, there was still a bit of red on the yellow sweater with water all over the front. She laid it out on the counter, flattening it, glancing over at James.

            “Do you want to borrow a sweater or something?” he asked, eyes glancing down. Sage nodded.

            “If you don’t mind,” she said. James lingered for a second, staring at her so unsubtly that she hit his arm lightly, a laugh escaping her. He groaned, but walked off into his room anyway.

            Sage stood there for a second, a smile on her face. She looked down at the spaghetti and grabbed a noodle, slurping it up just as James exited his room with a sweater in his hands.

            It was grey, soft, way too big, and comfortable. Sage realized, after she put it on, it was perfect. She grinned up at him, rolling up the sleeves so she could use her hands.

            “I wish we lived closer together,” she said, attempting to brush some of her flyaway hairs back into her bun. “So I could steal your clothes more often.” Her hands grabbed the front of the sweater, bringing it up so she could bury her face into it. It smelled like him.

            He no longer smelled so strongly of bonfires anymore, nor so much like broomstick polish. But the musk remained, and as other parts of the way he smelled changed, Sage began just caring about the way _he_ smelled.

            “Yeah…” James trailed off, staring at the spaghetti with a furrowed brow. He seemed to consider something for a second before he took in a breath and looked at her. “Hey, Sage?”

            “Yeah?” Sage leaned forward in concern. His eyes shifted away from her and back.

            “Well, I was wondering... we’ve been together for a while now, and we love each other a whole lot and stuff... and it’s my first time living alone, and I’ve discovered I don’t like being _totally_ alone all the time... and I dunno if you’re up to it, but... I was thinking, if you’d want to, maybe you could move in with me?”

            Sage stared at him, bewildered. His face began to heat up as he let out a nervous chuckle.

            “I mean. It, er, doesn’t have to mean anything serious if you don’t want it to... it’s not like I’m asking you to _marry me_ or whatever, I mean--” James’ face got hotter as he began to ramble frantically. “--you know I want to get married, but you don’t, and that’s fine, but this doesn’t have anything to do with that, at least it doesn’t right now, if you don’t want it to, and I just wan--”

            “James!” Sage held out a hand, pressing it against his chest in order to calm him. He looked at her, eyes wide and worried. She attempted to hide her giggles, unable to stop from smiling. “I... I think I’d want to move in with you, actually.”

            “Wha-- really?! You mean it?” James grabbed her shoulders, staring her in her green eyes.

            “Yeah,” she let out a breathy laugh, “I do.”

            James hugged her, arms wrapped tightly as he leaned back, lifting her off the ground. When he finally put her down, he kissed her deeply, pulling away slightly to say, “you don’t even know how happy I am right now,” slamming his mouth back onto hers.

            It was when he finally backed off of her (he still kissed her multiple times randomly) and they had eaten dinner and she had decided to sleep there and they were laying in bed that she thought about what he had said while he was rambling. Although the whole speech was lost to her, she remembered he’d mentioned marriage, and she couldn’t help but think... _did_ he want to marry her?

            She forced herself not to think about it at the moment, burying her face into his chest, seeking the warmth he radiated.

            Just as she closed her eyes and began to drift off, he whispered, “happy anniversary.”

            Sage shot up, looking at him though the dark with wide eyes. “It’s our anniversary?! Shit!”

            She inhaled sharply, looking over at the window. “I forgot about anniversaries.”

            “You mean you forgot about our anniversary?” James sat up, elbows supporting him.

            “No, I mean, I forgot the very idea of anniversaries existed. Not just ours. Everything. What the fuck.”

            James squinted at her for a second before he fell back down onto his back, bursting out into laughter and covering his face with his hands.

            “It’s not funny,” Sage huffed. James peeked at her through his fingers, still laughing.

            “It’s _pretty funny_ , love.” He cut himself off with a snort and went back to laughing. Sage narrowed her eyes at him, uncrossed her arms and, in one fluid motion, swung her leg over him so she was sitting on him. She reached up her hands, grabbing his wrists and pulling on them so she could see his laughing face.

            She leaned over him so she was inches from his face, glaring at him even though he was still laughing, although he had calmed a bit. His eyes opened, able to see her (a blob - he didn’t have his glasses on) over him, another chuckle escaping his lips.

            “I wanted to apologize,” she said, “but you’re being mean.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry, love.” James looked absolutely delighted. “I shouldn’t have laughed.”

            Sage pressed her lips together, hiding how they started to curl up at the edges. She let out a huff again before she kissed him deeply, hands going to the sides of his face and making him lean upwards.

            James fell asleep that night with a smile on his face, his mood totally different from how it had been every night since he’d moved out. He no longer felt alone. And as he held Sage in his arms, he was overly excited that soon, she’d be there with him every night.

 

            “It looks so... clean, now. I mean, aside from the boxes.” Sage looked over her empty bedroom. The floor was bare, closet empty, wall above her bed devoid of its usual pictures. James stood behind her, looking at the same room with a lot less emotion.

            “Pretty vacant,” he nodded. She turned to glance at him.

            “That’s a song,” said Sage, smile making its way onto her face. “By the Sex Pistols.”

            “Oh, yeah…” James trailed off, Sage raking her eyes over her room - or, rather, what _had been_ her room - one last time. A sigh escaped her as she grabbed one of the last boxes, full of personal things, like pictures and certificates. Memories. It’d been one of the last things she packed, so she hadn’t gotten to look through them as much as she wanted, because she had to hurriedly shove things into the box. She decided she’d look through it when she got to James’ place-- her place. Her and James’ place.

            “I guess we should go.” It felt strange, leaving. Saying goodbye. She hadn’t lived there very long, but it was still strange. If anything, she was saying goodbye less to the cottage and more to living with family. She was moving out, growing up. Strange.

            Sage turned to James and glanced at the door to her room which hung open. “I think August’s in the living room.”

            “Alright. I’ll get this last box.” Sage nodded, heading out the door as James took a step closer to the box, leaning to pick it up just as she left.

            August was staring out the window at the outside world as it fell into Autumn. An orange leaf floated by the glass, landing on top of a lilac bush Sage had planted not long ago. He watched Sage enter the room out of the corner of his eye.

            He didn’t say anything as Sage moved to stand beside him. He had his hands in his pockets, clenched into hidden fists.

            “It’s going to be strange.” Sage stood taller, clutching the box to her chest. “Not living with you.”

            He didn’t say anything. She sighed.

            “You did a good job, August.”

            August’s eyes closed and a low breath escaped him.

            “I don’t-- I’m--” Sage paused, eyes falling to the window seat. “I know things aren’t the best right now - between us, I mean - but I still love you and want to make you happy. We have some... pretty big disagreements, but... I don’t know.” She let out an awkward and dry chuckle. “I’m trying to make a big speech or something, but I don’t know what to say and how to make things better.

            “Basically, I love you and am going to miss you a lot. And I worry you’re taking me leaving as more of a leaving _you_ thing than the moving on it is. I’ll never get over you, August. And I’ll never leave you. And you _fucking better_ not leave me.”

            “I won’t.” August spoke with a low, sharp tone. Sage smiled sadly. “No matter what you do, who you become, whatever.”

            Sage turned to him, ignoring the window his head had turned away from. He gave her a look-over, eyes solemn.

            “Harold’s going to miss you.” August smiled weakly and Sage pouted.

            “My feathery son.” She put her hand on her heart, perching the box on her hip. “I trust you to care for him.”

            August laughed and Sage grinned for a second before her lips fell to a smile. He gave her a sad one back.

            “You grew up too fast, Sage.” August looked back at the window. Sage’s stomach tightened.

            “I wish we would’ve had more time,” said Sage, tears forming. “In so many instances. I wish we would’ve had mum alone for longer, I wish the summers didn’t end so soon, and I wish I didn’t have to grow up.”

            “That’s just not the way the world works.” He sighed, obviously wishing the same thing.

            A silence in the air hung around them until James cleared his throat to make them aware of his presence. Behind them he stood, box in hands, looking quite awkward.

            “We should go,” said Sage, taking a step closer to James, her attention on her brother. August said nothing, hands still shoved deep in his pockets.

            A split-second decision was made and Sage put down the box in her hands to wrap her arms around August. His hands slowly exited his pockets and he hugged her back. She pulled away after a few seconds, picking up the box again and taking slow steps over to James.

            “You ready?” asked James. Sage nodded, turning back to look at August one last time, waving to him as they disapparated.

 

            Living with James was both a delight and a hassle. He was so sweet and funny and great to have around, but... as it turned out, a lot of their daily habits needed adjustment to coincide with the other’s.

            Luckily, they didn’t have issue with getting chores done (August hated chores. Often, he’d string up whole webs of lies to get out of them. Once, he created a whole group of friends that didn’t exist just so he wouldn’t have to do the dishes).

            It didn’t take them too long to figure out the details. They decided to work together so they could focus more on enjoying each other’s company.

            James made dinner every night. The wall closest to him was covered in pictures and such, courtesy of Sage. He loved it, and often found himself looking over at it and smiling as he cooked. They would eat together, laughing and smiling (sometimes a bit more somber) as they enjoyed the food James had made. It turned Sage into a Vegetarian, as when James cooked, he didn’t use meat. Most of what she ate was what he made, so she just ended up not eating meat by circumstance (though, when she went out or ate other places, she did tend to go back).

            Sage was more in love with James than ever. The things she noticed that she hadn’t before were what really did her in. He sung in the shower (off key and loud) and while he cooked (breakfast normally called for slow and sweet songs, rock songs for dinner), accompanied by Sage’s record player which had been moved to the kitchen.

            He loved having the windows open, to get fresh air (even though the October weather brought in a cold breeze, causing them to have to wear more sweaters and drink more tea). He took showers at night, and occasionally drew baths and hung out in them so long Sage would worry something had happened and go check on him, only to find him making a detailed figure of Santa Claus out of bubbles (and he’d give himself a bubble beard, along with a bubble hat he made by dropping bubbles on his head). And when they had arguments, despite Sage’s anxieties, they’d come out the other side.

            It was when she laid by his side, staring into his eyes, that an overwhelming rush of adoration swept through her. All the things written of love did not do it justice. The art, created out of and for passion, and the music which came from the heart still did not show the true extent of what she felt.

            Sage and James had taken their relationship to the next level. They were more serious, and were becoming closer and closer with each passing day. They were best friends, but something so much more.

            The Potters loved Sage. Seeing their beloved son so happy was enough to convince them, but when Sage spent time with them (as she had been doing more and more often), they found themselves loving her further. Their last lunch with her was absolutely lovely, and they’d greatly enjoyed watching James and Sage interact.

            Sage loved the Potters. They were sweet and welcoming, warm-hearted and accepting. Euphemia and Fleamont treated Sage like she was their daughter, taking care of her and asking her about how things were with genuine interest. They were a lovely couple, and the way they interacted brought Sage hope for future relationships. Their dynamic chipped away at Sage’s idea of marriage - she’d acquired the idea that they went sour after time when she was young, but seeing the Potters made her consider a different possibility.

            The first night Sage spent alone in the flat was only a few days after she’d moved in. She walked through the flat, feet touching wood, rooms far too empty, an unsettling aura hanging in the place she called home. A shiver ran down her spine and she hurried to the kitchen to grab her wand. With all the news stories about serial killers, she’d rather be safe than sorry (hopefully, the Yorkshire Ripper was a Muggle who was uninterested in coming all the way out to Sage’s flat in London).

            Sage ate dinner with her knees against her chest and her feet pulled onto the chair. Across the table, James’ spot was empty. The window beside the table showed the darkness of night, obscured by falling rain. It was a black void outside. Sage’s fingers grazed the window, meeting her reflection at the cold glass.

            It was a full moon, but even its glow could not cut through the darkness consuming the outside world as it was hammered with rain. But the moon would still worm its way through the black treacle hanging in the air and get to Remus, turning into the creature haunting him.

            A crack of lightning flashed outside the window, quickly followed by a boom of thunder which hung around for a couple seconds, exploring different low tones in a haunting music. Sage’s fork scraped against her plate before her fingers released it and her hands moved onto her legs as she let out a sigh.

            Where were the boys? What was happening? It was late, as revealed by the clock on the counter, so how far into the night were they? Sage jumped slightly as another flash ripped through the sky. It was only a line of white and illuminated nothing else. The darkness was too thick. Rain continued to hammer down. Water slipped down the window after hitting it with heavy drops.

            Sage let her feet fall from the chair back onto the ground, cleaning up after her meal. The clock continued to tell her it was late, so she made her way into the bedroom.

            The ceiling hadn’t changed, she noticed. It was occasionally visible through the darkness when a flash of lightning illuminated the room for a split second. Staring up at the ceiling with the sleeves of her sweatshirt rolled up, Sage let out steady breaths as she closed her eyes, trying to let the sound of the storm lull her to sleep. She’d always found the noises created by thunderstorms calming, but this storm felt more malicious.

            She’d need to remember to get some plants to put on the windowsill. Hopefully, she’d remember tomorrow, but most likely, she’d forget. Her mind was swirling with too many thoughts.

            Were the boys okay? Was the weather getting to them? She didn’t know where they were, exactly. She hoped it was indoors.

            Her eyes opened as she wondered what Voldemort was doing at that exact moment. She didn’t want to think about it. All she could imagine was him pointing his wand at someone and committing the unforgivable with a smile on his face.

            Where was Xan? Sage hadn’t heard from them at all since graduation. They’d vanished into thin air. Sage prayed they hadn’t gone down the rabbit hole again. She knew how much they struggled.

            Sage’s eyes fluttered closed again as she forced herself to think of happier things. Chocolate chip cookies... unicorns... puppies... Harold...

            She didn’t remember falling asleep, and she didn’t feel as if she had been. Sandy eyes snapped open as a booming roll of thunder sounded, following after a bright light she hadn’t seen. Sage rubbed at her eyes and yawned. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she hadn’t gotten enough sleep (somehow, she was more tired), and the rain had began to lighten up, heavy drops turning to soft _‘pitter-patter_ ’s.

            It was no longer pitch black outside, but it was still dark. The sky was a deep blue, reminiscent of the depths of the ocean.

            Sage blinked quickly, eyes blurry and unfocused, as she turned onto her side and rubbed one eye, the other open lazily.

            The door handle shook, turning as the wooden door began to open. Sage’s eyes went clear and wide, her body stiff.

            A sigh of relief overtook her as she recognized the man in the doorway and she found herself sitting up, rubbing her eye once more to get the last of the sand out of it.

            James was soaked, cold, and tired. His body ached, and there was a bruise forming on his side from when he’d been barreled into. All he wanted to do was sleep in his warm bed with his warm girlfriend.

            “How was it?” asked Sage, watching him as he took off his jacket and laid it on a chair.

            “You should be asleep.” James’ voice was overly soothing and enough to make her eyes feel much heavier, but she forced them open.

            “I’ll be fine. We’ll sleep in tomorrow. Today. Whatever.” Sage still had no idea what time it was. Based on James coming home, it was early, early morning.

            “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, clean clothes in his hands. His hair was all stuck to his forehead, as droplets of water leaked off it, down his face. He slipped his wand out of his pocket and put it on the bedside table next to Sage’s. He kissed her softly, lips wet, leaving hers tasting like rain. “Try to sleep. I won’t be too long.”

            He stepped out of the room, leaving Sage alone once more. She took in a breath and let herself fall backwards, eyes closing again, feeling much better.

            When James returned, Sage was asleep, breathing slow and steady, her arms held close to herself. His lips curled upwards as he pulled back the blankets, lowering himself onto the mattress as subtle as he could.

            He ran a hand through his hair, laying his head onto his pillow. For a moment before he took off his glasses, he stared at Sage, heart heavy.  

            A soft hum came from her as he brushed a hair out of her face, her arms extending out from her and her hands grabbing at his shirt. It’s impossible to describe how happy this made him. She held onto his shirt, pulling ever so slightly. He scooted closer, draping an arm around her, trying to see her (and failing, as it was still quite dark and he was practically blind) before he closed his own eyes and fell asleep as well.

 

            It was during an Order meeting when Lily and Marlene announced their engagement. Lily had shown Sage her ring - a nice diamond with tiny emeralds on either side - after showing it to Wendy, and seemed happier than ever. James had been getting a cup of tea when Marlene told him. He had taken a sip and nodded, ignoring the burning liquid, forcing himself to swallow so he could congratulate her.

            Sage tried not to think only of James but failed. All she could think about was him and how much he wanted exactly what the girls were getting. And James tried not to think only of Sage, but couldn’t help imagining what it would be like, marrying Sage. He’d gotten to their third imaginary child when his fantasy was cut off by a bit of tea spilling down his front.


	40. Forty

            Sage wasn’t there. The day before, she came down with a nasty cold and thus had to stay home in bed.  When James crawled into bed beside her, waking her up, she found out. His eyes were watery and he held onto her for dear life.

            She wasn’t there. Sure, his friends were, and they offered him comfort, but it didn’t make her feel any better. He’d seen someone die, and she wasn’t there.

            James hadn’t seen it all, but he watched a body fly through the air and land in a way which insured it wouldn’t get up again. It was startling, but he’d kept fighting until everything else stopped. He went back to the Order a zombie with Sirius by his side, equally as upset.

            Sage ran her hands through his hair while he laid his face against her chest, cheek touching where she’d been hit by Severus only a year ago. The red scar was still prevalent, and James would trace it sometimes, running his fingers along it and other scars, like the one on her thigh she’d gotten from Lucinda even longer ago, lovingly.

            He cried silently. When he finally pulled back from Sage, he looked at her with red eyes, and apologized.

            She was baffled but found her voice, though it hurt to speak. “It’s okay, James.”

            “I know,” he said, moving to wipe tears from his face. “It’s no big deal and I should be stronger and not get so ups--”

            “No, lovely, I mean, it’s okay that you’re so sad. You can cry. Even if you hadn’t just experienced trauma, it’d be okay.”

            James sighed, glancing away. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked. Sage shook her head, a frown on her lips as she brushed some of his hair out of his face.

            “I think it’s just gotten worse,” said Sage. “And I don’t want you to get sick, but you can lay with me if you want to.”

            “I want to.” James smiled sadly. Hazel eyes cleared up, but were still darker than usual. Sage pulled him closer to her, closing her eyes again.

            A few days later, James and Sage lay together in bed on Halloween night, wanting desperately to eat candy but not feeling well enough to. Those poor, unfortunate souls - it was the most horrid Halloween ever (they couldn’t even imagine having one worse).

 

            “SIRIUS MOTHERFUCKING BLACK, YOU ABSOLUTE RASCAL, HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY,” James shouted, standing atop Sirius’ coffee table, holding his drink in the air. Agreement in the form of yelling came from the others in Sirius’ living room. Sage was dying of laughter on the couch beside Peter who had a scrunched up nose and was letting out occasional snorts.

            James was having the time of his life as he took a big swig of firewhiskey and jumped off the table. He collapsed onto the couch, goofy smile on his face. Remus sat on the floor next to the coffee table, trying to hold in laughter (he was failing). Sirius took long drags from a smokable object between his fingers, breathing out smoke in puffs as he laughed.

            “Thanks, Prongs.” Sirius leaned back, using one hand to shuffle through to find a good one. He finally pulled one out, taking it out of the sleeve and playing it.

            Sage smiled, totally zoned out. The music was nice, and hung in the air with the smoke. Beside her, James giggled at something Peter had said she hadn’t heard.

            “Oh!” James stopped giggling as he suddenly remembered something in his back pocket. He reached back, hand digging deep into his jeans, before he pulled out a poorly-made bracelet. He turned to Sirius and handed it to him.

            “What’s this?” asked Sirius, confused as he stared at the string in his hands.

            “I made you a friendship bracelet!” James grinned. Sirius gave a pained smile.

            “I dunno, Prongsie, I’m not much of a jewelry person…” the dog trailed off. James’ smile fell.

            “Well, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to…”

            “No, fuck you, I’m going to wear it forever.” Sirius struggled to get the bracelet on, but he did it with such determination, James started to tear up upon seeing his friend so fiercely want to wear his friendship bracelet. “Why’re you getting all emotional?”

            “I’m not emotional,” said James through his tears (he wasn’t bothering to wipe off). “Stop calling me emotional. Fuck you.”

            “Alright, mate…” Sirius leaned back, taking another drag.

            Sage was still totally zoned out, unable to focus on one given thing or thought, including reality and what she’d been worrying about before they came over - August. She hadn’t spoken to him much since she moved out (he wasn’t _ignoring_ her, but he was ignoring her). There was a puppy floating through her mind, hopping around and catching thought bubbles with its mouth. It was fucking adorable.

            An unknown amount of time passed where Sage only caught bits of the conversation (at one point, Remus had said, “just tell me what you did so I can start complaining.” At another, someone said, through tears, “I just want Godric Gryffindor to be proud of me”). She finally came back to reality when Sirius said, “hey, just because I’ve had three concussions, doesn’t mean I’m not as smart as you all.”

            “ _Sage_ ,” said James, pulling on her sleeve. He’d been the one to bring her back to reality. “I’m tired.”

            “We can go if you want to--” Sage began, cut off by Remus.

            “Wait, I don’t know if you should be apparating home… you’re stoned and James is drunk.”

            “I’m not drunk!” slurred James confidently. “I’m totally drunk!” he looked at them smugly for a second before his face fell and he realized. “...shit, I meant sober.”

            “Yeah, like I said, not the most reliable two people. You’d end up splinched, somehow bits of you would end up in thirty different locations or some shit.”

            “Well then, what are we supposed to do, Remus?” James rolled his eyes dramatically. “ _Starve_? Of sleep?”

            “...ignoring how I have absolutely no idea what the hell _that_ means, I recommend going home a muggle way.”

            “Like… cars and shit?”

            “Yes, James, like cars and shit.” Remus sighed, shoving his palms into his eyes. “Take a train.”

            “Don’t we have to pay for that, though?”

            “Oh fuck, yeah, you do.” Remus stared off into the distance for a second, problem solving. He gave up after a couple seconds, saying tiredly, “fuck it, just sneak onto someplace. Jump the barriers. Whatever. That’s a good enough idea.”

            James and Sage ended up running away from Muggle police in the underground, jumping onto a (the wrong) train just before the doors closed, high-fiving each other as the train took off.

            It took them multiple hours to get home, and they ended up in parts of England they didn’t know existed (also, they might’ve gone to Scotland for a bit, somehow. Don’t ask - it was a wild night) before they finally looked at a map (making identical “ohhhhhh” noises while a nice lady explained it) and found out where they were, getting onto a train they almost fell asleep on, snapping back to reality just in time to get off at the right platform.

            Sage had led them back to the flat, breathing in the fresh air as James danced around to imaginary music.

            They got back from their adventure, did not bother to take off their shoes, and collapsed in bed. Luckily, right before she passed out, Sage remembered to lock the door, so her hand reached for her wand blindly and gave it a wave while she could only hope it’d worked.

            Sage began to drift off, her eyes closed and breathing slowing. Just as she started to sleep, James had sat up, asking her something randomly, a grin on his face.

            “Did it hurt?” he said charmingly, as if he was flirting.

            “What?” Sage mumbled into her pillow. “When I fell from heaven?”

            “No, when you fell for me.” His grin widened, a smile forming on Sage’s face, as well. She hit his chest lightly, groaning.

            “Go to fucking sleep, James.”

 

            Lily and Marlene wrote their own vows. They were elegant and beautiful, words strung together onto white lace lining that hung around them and brought tears to Sage’s eyes. They mentioned the hardships, such as the war and those who were absent, whether it be for conflict reasons or because they were unable to. They spoke of the good times along with the bad. Lily shared a story about them laying in their dorm together and professing their love for the first time, terrified of what it meant for them but unable to hide their feelings any longer. There wasn’t a dry eye by the time they were finished.

            And then they were married, running off down the aisle, hand-in-hand, elated.

            It was a long night, but nobody seemed to care as they danced the night away, ignoring the exhaustion as much as they could. Sage and Sirius outdid everyone else, though, when a song they had a shared love for (a punk song, of course) came on and they used up all of their remaining energy, going to sit down while a nice slow song came on.

            James grabbed Lily’s hand and danced with her while Sage watched with a smile. Lily’s head fell back in a laugh and Sage looked away finally, turning to Sirius.

            “If you wouldn’t’ve started singing along, we wouldn’t be friends anymore.”

            “Ah, Sage, you underestimate me. Of course I’m going to sing along. I was going to sing along the second I heard the first note.” Sirius scoffed, waving her off, a smile worming onto his face.

            “Of course,” Sage said seriously, breaking into a fit of giggles afterwards. James and Lily were still dancing and having a great time. As Sage watched them, her mind went at the speed of light and her mouth caught up before she could stop it.

            “Do you think James wants to marry me?” she asked, not taking her eyes off of the two dancers. Sirius’ mouth fell open.

            “Are you-- are you fucking-- oh my fucking-- _yes,_ Sage.” Sirius stared at her, bewildered. “Of fucking _course_ James wants to marry you! He’s wanted to marry you for _forever_ , Sage.”

            Sage didn’t know what to say to him. Her eyes didn’t leave James. Lily stepped on his foot, but he didn’t even grimace - they just laughed it off. In the low light, his smiling face looked like a dream.

            “Is what his parents act like the way people act in normal marriages?” Sage turned away from the dance floor to pay attention to Sirius.

            “I don’t know if it’s normal,” said Sirius honestly. “But I know he’s basically studied the way they interact, and he’s sure to be like them. He really idolizes them and their behaviours. If you watch them, you’ll know what he’ll strive to be. And if you watch him watching them, it’ll be obvious he’s soaking up all the positive examples they set.”

            Sirius loosened his tie, yawning. “Either way, I’m sure what happened to our parents isn’t all too normal. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure nobody would want to get married.”

            “Yeah…” Sage trailed off, looking back at the dance floor, where the slow music had stopped so another song could begin (they were reaching the end of the track list). James let go of Lily, releasing her from a hug before he headed over to where Sage and Sirius sat.

            “Do you want to go?” asked James, watching Sage yawn.

            Sage nodded and stretched her arms above her head, “yeah.”

            “I think they’re doing some other stuff, but... I’m too tired to bother with participating in wedding traditions.” James ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further (Sage had tried her hardest to get the bit that stood up at the back to flatten out, but it refused to).

            “I can sympathize,” said Sage, gathering her things. She stood beside James, turning to Sirius and saying simply, “thanks.”

            Sirius gave her a curt nod, waving goodbye to them and watching them go with a curious look and an active mind which was being uncharacteristically serious. Those two. Two of his best friends (Sage had earned the title after a while, mainly from the sad but comforting conversations they had on occasion) who were so in love with each other, they didn’t know what to do about it.

            James, who wanted to grow old with her and die surrounded by their future children in a peaceful world, was getting closer and closer to getting his dream, as Sage began to want it as well. And he was so worried she didn’t want any of the things he did, but there she was, starting to imagine what married life would entail.

            And it wasn’t too terrible.   
            He wasn’t there. From the looks of it, he hadn’t been for quite some time. The lights were out, so the only thing visible through the windows was darkness. Sage’s garden, or what had been Sage’s garden, no longer had plant life living and thriving, and was all dead.

            It wasn’t any of this which tipped her off, nor the way the house looked as dead as the plants outside of it. It was the gate, hung open, that made her mind say _something’s wrong_.

            August had always been so stern about keeping the gate closed. It had actually been the main topic of many of their arguments, as silly as it may be. August was pernickety about few things, but not closing the gate drove him up a wall.

            “ _How hard is it to close a gate behind you?!_ ” he would say, pulling at his hair. Sage would stare at him, totally bewildered as he paced in the living room.

            “ _It’s a wooden gate, August! What’s the big deal?! It’s not keeping anything out!_ ” she’d say back. He would groan (although it was more of a ‘AUGH’ than anything) in frustration, making sharp hand movements.

            “ _It shouldn’t matter! Just close the gate!_ ” The conversations usually ended when Sage finally agreed to just close the gate (she’d end up forgetting to, eventually) and they went to their separate rooms (or, as happened often, to the kitchen to eat some pasta).

            But here she was, standing in front of her old house on her nineteenth birthday, alone and beginning to panic because the gate was swung open. Was it irrational of her to get so worried over something as simple as gate status? Most likely.

            It was the first time she had seen the house since she said goodbye, and seeing it so alone was troublesome. But she was even more worried about where August was. She hadn’t had a real conversation with him in so long. Would he have told her before moving out? Surely.

            Sage stepped forward, hand moving to her side, where her wand stuck out of her pocket. Her converse-covered feet shuffled closer to the cottage and her left hand reached out to push the gate open the rest of the way.

            It gave out its usual squeak but sounded much more eerie than usual. Sage paused. The garden was all dead. Even the lilac bush, which was arguably her favourite plant ever (one could also argue it was a tree outside of her childhood home she often climbed. It was perfect for sitting in for hours, and she often brought books up with her as she hung out in its branches), was drooping, leaves brown. It was, frankly, shocking. How all the plants died so quickly, she didn’t know.

            The stone pathway below her feet had ivy growing in the cracks, but even that was dead. A chill went down Sage’s spine. The house loomed over her, windows like eyes watching her hungrily. The door was a mouth, waiting to swallow her.

            She tightened her grip on her wand at her side, pressed against her leg. Trembling fingers reached up to open the door, the metal cold under her fingertips. Her thumb pressed down, pushing it forward as if it was open.

            It was unlocked. Sage’s hand fell off the handle, her heart sending blood through her body faster and faster. A feeling of unease hung in the air, leaving her unsettled.

            The light of day cut through the darkness, the setting sun’s rays shining through the doorway and onto the wooden floor, letting Sage see inside the living room, albeit poorly.

            It was unnaturally empty. The dark highlighted how blank it was, like something out of a horror movie. Sage’s wand moved in front of her as she created a light from it, as if more light would change the reality of the situation.

            The extra light didn’t do anything beside make everything more visible. There wasn’t much to see, as the room was empty. All that was there was the basic furniture - the couch, table, and armchairs. All the clutter was gone, including the lamp which used to sit beside the couch. The bookshelf was empty.

            Sage’s hand was shaking and tears swarmed in her eyes. Something had happened. She just knew it. She didn’t know what, but she knew something happened.

            She took extra steps forward, and was able to see the lamp hadn’t gone anywhere but onto the floor, where it lay, smashed.

            A shiver passed through Sage. What the fuck was going on, she didn’t know. But she needed to. All her thoughts were focused on August as she snapped out of her frozen state, rushing around the house, checking every nook and cranny. He wasn’t there, and the rest of the cottage was just like the living room - eerily empty.

            And there were other broken things, like one of the doors to a cabinet in the kitchen (hanging on by one hinge) and the mirror in the bathroom (with bits of red stuck to some of its sharp edges).

            Sage was in hysterics, her whole body shaking wildly as she stood in the living room, frantic.

            He wasn’t there, and it looked like he hadn’t been for quite some time. So where was he? She’d seen him occasionally around the Order, so he was okay - at least, he had been a few days prior. Where he was then, she needed to find out. He hadn’t even wished her a happy birthday.

            James heard the crack of someone apparating into the living room from the kitchen and knew it was Sage returning from France (her friends there had wanted to do something for her birthday).

            “How was talking only in Fr--” James cut himself off when Sage came into the kitchen, dropping the napkins in his hands to rush to her side. “What’s happened?”

            “Something’s wrong,” she said, hands still shaking. “With August. He isn’t home and I don’t know where he is. The house... it’s empty. All our stuff is gone, I don’t know where he is and I’m…” Sage ended her rambling with a sob, reaching out for James.

            “We’ll find him, Sage. He-- he might be at the Order. Or someone might know where he is. We can go there, alright?” James tried not to panic, rubbing Sage’s bicep comfortingly. She nodded, and he led her through calming her erratic breath until she was breathing normally, when he looked into her eyes and nodded, apparating them to the Order.

            Nobody knew where he was. They all gave Sage sorry looks, unable to tell her where her brother was.

            “Is there anywhere you think he might go? Somewhere he feels safe or something?” asked James, holding onto Sage’s hands and looking into her eyes. A lightbulb lit in her mind and she took her hands back, thinking hard.

            “There is somewhere,” she said, scratching her arm. “It’s a long shot, but…”

            “Where is it?” James asked, ready to head there (if August was there, perfectly fine, he was totally going to yell. Be happy and relieved, but yell).

            Sage gave him a once-over, swallowing. “You should head home. Get stuff ready.”

            “What? No, I’m goin--”

            “ _James_.” Sage’s voice was enough to make him look her over before nodding, kissing her forehead and caressing her cheek, giving her a loving look before breaking away from her and vanishing.

 

            He was there, just like she thought. Right were she imagined him being. Exactly like what she remembered.

            She was twelve when their mother died. She’d come home from a friend’s house on a July afternoon when the sun was beginning to set, heading through the backyard to get home, where her mother was sure to have dinner ready.

            She’d opened the gate, heading through, when she saw August sitting next to the lilac bush their mother loved so much. His back was to her, his knees pulled up to his chest, as his fingers played with a bit of lilac he’d picked off the branches.

            “ _What’re you doing?_ ” Sage asked, taking steps forward, a hint of teasing in her voice. August didn’t move, keeping his eyes trained on the flowers. He was so young then. Sage took another step closer, “ _July?_ ” (she’d found calling him other months the funniest thing in the entire universe).

            “ _Something’s happened, Sage_.” He spoke calmly, but his voice shook slightly.

            “ _What?_ ” Sage’s brow furrowed, an awkward chuckle coming from her. “ _You’re worrying me._ ”

            He finally looked up, eyes raking over the bush in front of him, inspecting each and every branch, before he turned his body around and looked at her.

            “ _There was an accident_ ,” he said, trying his hardest to soften the blow. Sage was only twelve. Far too young (he didn’t seem to consider that he, at age 18, was also too young to lose something so important. He was too focused on how awful this was for her, and how to make things better. He would have to take care of her, over the summers. He’d be her guardian, and he’d have to fight for her).

            He told her their mother was dead, but there was only so much he could do to make her not as upset. She’d still lost her mother, and she still understood far too well.

            August shot up from his spot on the ground the second Sage began to cry, taking her in his arms and brushing her hair, telling her things he thought might comfort her. But saying ‘ _it was painless_ ’ and ‘ _she loved you so much, she was so proud of you_ ’ didn’t do much to soothe her aching soul.

            But in the present, 30th December, 1978, when Sage was freshly nineteen, nobody close to her had just died. The sun hung low in the air, casting an amber shadow over the backyard she hadn’t been in since she was young, before August had moved them to Western England.

            Cotton candy skies surrounded them, beautiful blues and pinks, all soft shades, pale clouds floating close to the earth. Sage’s hands shook. August sat with his legs out in front of him, facing the sunset, the lilac bush to his right and brick wall behind him. In his hands, he twiddled with a branch he broke off the lilac bush, which was out of control and overgrown, but still alive.

            Sage was at a loss for words. What was she supposed to say to him? She’d like to say she was calm and asked him something hard-hitting and meaningful, but all she did to alert him to her presence was let out a choking sob.

            His head turned to her so quick he could’ve given himself whiplash. Eyes widening, he stood up, taking hesitant steps over to her, head bowed but eyes watching her every move. Her shoulders shook, her hand going up to wipe her eyes.

            “Sage?” he asked, only a few steps away. She looked up at him, eyes watery. She was silent for a second, taking in a big breath and letting her emotions pour out of her.

            “You know what, August?” she began angrily. His eyes widened. “I don’t fucking care if you’re ignoring me or whatever! Fuck that, and fuck you! I just spent the last hour or whatever trying to find you, the whole time thinking you were dead or some shit! All because you apparently fucking moved out of our house without telling me! And I had no idea! So when I found a empty fucking house I thought you were dead! _I thought you were dead_!”

            Sage had tears streaming down her face. August’s heart broke and he swarmed her, encompassing her in a bone-breaking hug. Sage’s tears fell onto his shoulder, wetting his jacket.

            “You forgot my birthday,” said Sage weakly. August pulled back, shaking his head.

            “What? Of course I didn’t. D-did Harold not-- ugh, I sent something with him, but he must’ve not gotten it to you.”

            Sage couldn’t hide her smile, voice cracking as she tried to joke, “oh, Harold. Can’t live without him, can’t deliver mail with him.”

            August’s head fell back in laughter, his hands moving into the pockets of his jean jacket. His laughs faded away, face falling and eyes getting serious.

            “I’m…” he let out a sigh, kicking at the grass lightly. “I don’t really know how to say when I’ve done something wrong. I mean, usually. But this time? I _really_ fucked up. I... I dunno, I’ve always been bad at emotions - you know that - and this time they were so strong and confusing and overwhelming all I could do was run away from what I thought was making me upset.

            “So I pushed you away. But, unsurprisingly, this didn’t do anything but make me feel monumentally worse, and you got hurt, too. And I wanted to fix things, but... I just couldn’t. Every time I tried, I didn’t know what to say.

            “But I kept pushing you away, and feeling worse and worse, and trying to convince myself it was better that way, but it so clearly wasn’t. I can’t fully explain myself and I can’t really apologize because it was so bad, but… either one of us could die. And me thinking I can get you to stop putting yourself in danger just because I want it isn’t going to work.”

            Sage was still crying, but it was silent, tears falling down her cheeks. She cleared her throat, sniffing.

            “James and I are having friends over for cake and stuff in like a half hour. Are you up for participating in a group hang with a bunch of eighteen-year-olds and three nineteen-year-olds? There will be cake.”

            “It sounded lame until the cake part.”

 

            “I love cake,” said Sage, mouth full. Sirius nodded beside her, taking a bite of his slice.

            “This is good cake.” Sirius agreed, turning to James. “You found good cake.”

            James shrugged smugly, “I try.”

            Sage let her fork pick up another bit of the cake with a nice, even layer of icing. It melted in her mouth, fluffy and airy while still rich and sweet. James had done a good job in finding the bakery to get her birthday cake (he’d decided on a small bakery owned by a little old lady who wouldn’t let him leave without a bag full of cannolis she refused to let him pay for).

            Remus put down his plate which looked to have been licked clean (he had quite a sweet tooth), leaning back into the couch and letting out a breath. Sirius looked down at his own empty plate with a pout. Peter looked at the bit James had yet to eat hungrily, as he had finished his (and the rest of Wendy’s) piece.

            “I wish Cecil wasn’t still in Syria,” said Sage, swallowing. “He’s great and I miss him.”

            “I do too.” Wendy sat up (she had been laying on the floor). “You still haven’t heard from Xan? ...me neither. They better be okay.”

            “Maybe they went off somewhere super weird they can’t get any contact to the outside world.”

            “All I can think of now is them becoming a monk or nun or whatever.” Sage laughed, “can you imagine? They’d take one look at Xan and send them out the door.”

            “From what I know about Xan,” Sirius put down his plate, leaning forward, “they’d never go anywhere near a monastery. Or a church, for that matter.”

            “Yeah…” Sage laughed, hiding her anxiety. She hoped Xan was okay, but she had no way of knowing. And Xan disappearing wasn’t all too uncommon, and whenever anyone looked too far into where they’d gone, Xan would lash out, getting mad at them. To Sage, it was incredibly sad, how Xan got angry at people for caring.

            “I’m sure they’re okay, though,” said James, placing a hand on Sage’s shoulder. Sage nodded, not all convinced.

            “They’re pretty good at bouncing back,” Sage said, glancing over at August, who was playing exploding snap with Diana. “They’ve gotten too much practice.”

            Wendy nodded solemnly, remembering Xan’s past. But she sniffed and clapped her hands together, changing the subject. Xan didn’t like to be talked about, especially when they weren’t there, and when it was about their personal life and bad habits.

            “How much less stressed do you think McGonagall is now that you four have left school?” asked Wendy.

            “You say that as if we were a burden on her. She loved us, and I’m sure she’s distraught things’ve gotten so boring for her.”

            “Uh-huh. Yep, surely.” Sage nodded scholarly.

            “She’s going to get used to not having marauders around, the poor woman. What’ll happen when one of us has kids or something and the next generation appears?”

            “Sirius, the second she sees one of your last names on the roster, she’ll retire. I know she’s only - what, forty? Well, she’ll still retire.” Wendy picked at the dirt under her nails, waving Sirius off.

            “You tortured the poor woman. But you were probably her favourite students.”

            “James most of all,” said Remus, leaning forward. “Do you remember the time you tried to claim you weren’t the one who wrote on one of her desks even though it was your seat, your handwriting, and your name?”

            “I stand by my previous statement - James is a popular name.”

            “It said ‘Potter’, too.”

            “That’s a coincidence. Not my fault.” James shrugged, gathering the empty plates off the table. Sage stood, helping him, ignoring his protests.

            “You liar, I saw you writing it. You borrowed my ink to-- did it just get really cold in here or…?” Sirius tensed up, attempting to stay warm. It was like all the chill from outside had entered the flat.

            Sage clicked her tongue, “it’s that window again.” James sighed, agreeing with her. She took out her wand, casting a spell at the window.

            “We keep fixing it, but it keeps breaking again and again,” said James to their guests.

            “Hopefully it doesn’t keep breaking over the winter.” Peter shifted in his seat. “You’ll end up freezing.”

            “I think we’re going to put in a fireplace.” Sage put her wand back into her pocket. Wormtail nodded. “And it’s probably not going to get very cold this winter, I think.”

            “That’ll help,” he said, scratching his nose.

            “I can’t believe Christmas is coming so soon,” said Wendy, staring at the ceiling. “It’s almost December - this year was so short. But also so... long. It was only, like, four or five months ago when we graduated.”

            “Holy shit, really?” Sirius’ mouth hung open. “I feel like I’ve been out of school for three years. Being an adult is boring.”

            “Woooaaah, hold up there, mate.” August, having finished his last game with Diana, made his way over to the table, taking an empty chair. “You’re nineteen. You’re hardly an adult, for one. You haven’t reached the peak of boring adulthood.”

            “The peak?”

            “I got a new end table last week and I almost cried because it was so frustrating to assemble but it was the best thing to happen to me all week.”

            “That’s so sad,” Sirius said, giving August a horrified look.

            “It’s the way of the world! You can’t always be a rebellious teenager who does whatever whenever and gets in trouble just for the fun of it.” August noticed Sirius’ face, adding, “it’s not bad, though. Being young is chaos, and getting older is nice because you have the ability to do what you want.”

            “...I’m not convinced. I want to stay a cool teen.”

            “Well, by the time you’ve reached adulthood, you’ll not be a teenager anymore. It’s not like the version of you right now will be doing things I am. By the time you’re twenty or thirty-something, you’ll have grown up enough to deal with what’s happening to you.

            “It’s like, when I was fifteen, I was so scared of graduating, because I wasn’t ready to go out into the world. I didn’t realize that I would be a different person by then. At fifteen, I wasn’t ready to graduate. But when I did, and was eighteen, I was ready. Because I had grown to be. Thinking of the future is hard because you see your current self in the future, but it won’t be. You change every day, every moment, honestly. By the time you get there, you’ll be ready. Does that make any sense?”

            “Uh-uhh.” Sirius shook his head, face blank.

            “You’ll be ready, it’ll be okay. Is that better?”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Is it weird,” Wendy began, sitting up again, Diana joining her on the floor, “that I feel nostalgic for being a teenager even though I am still one?”

            “No, not really.” Remus sat up straighter, looking at the girls on the floor. “I’ve felt nostalgic since I was sixteen,” (he wanted to add, “because I grew up too fast and lost so much of my youth because of what happened to me when I was still a child,” but not everyone there knew about that, so he kept quiet).

            “I don’t feel nostalgic for being a teenager, if it makes you feel better.” August shrugged, “there’s some things I look back on fondly, and some things I feel a little nostalgic over. But I have no want to go back to being a teenager.”

            Sirius almost said ‘but you didn’t have as great teenager-experience as we did,’ but he felt this was a bit rude, so he instead said, “eh, I’ve felt better. My future now is brighter than I thought it would be at age fourteen, though.”

            “That’s good. I hope you-- all of you, get the absolute best versions of your futures, and live exactly the perfect lives for yourselves.” Diana spoke from the floor, her hands in her lap.

            “You’re so sweet, Diana.” Sage grinned down at the brunette, joining them on the floor. “May we all have lovely futures.”

            There was a toast, “to the future,” where Sirius was only able to look at Sage and James and the way he kept an arm around her while she rose her glass, and the loving glances she would send him. James’ hand was on Sage’s arm, occasionally giving her bicep squeezes, pulling her in closer. Sage would bring her hand up to his, running her thumb over his knuckles absentmindedly. An air of content and warmth hung around them, making them soft and blurry at the edges, but still all there.

            Sirius did another, mental toast, watching the rest of them sip from bubbling and sweet drinks. _Those fucking idiots, who so obviously are supposed to spend the rest of their lives together, fucking better have good futures, I swear to Merlin, or I’m going to kill who or whatever kept them from it._

            He then watched as Sage told a terrible joke (something about a dog and a banana - it was a pun, and really, really dumb), looking as if she was trying her hardest not to laugh at her own joke. James burst out laughing, head falling back and shoulders shaking as he let out full-body laughs, taking his hands off of Sage to clap them together once in hysterics. Sage’s ear-to-ear grin caused her eyes to crinkle up, a sparkle in them, as she watched her boyfriend.

            And he remembered the look in Sage’s eyes when she asked if James wanted to marry her. She was uncertain, obviously, but Sirius noticed something else - a sweetness, a hope. She _totally_ wanted to marry James. She just didn’t quite know it yet.

            Sirius’ lips curled up at the edges, and he sipped his own drink, paying no attention to his mouth (which had a sweetness still in it from the cake, the lingering taste of cigarettes, and the taste and feel of firewhiskey, which sent a wave of heat through him). He was too mischievous for his own (and everyone else’s) good.


	41. Forty-One

            It snowed overnight. Sage woke up in James’ arms (she’d been in her own space when she fell asleep, but the room had gotten considerably colder during the night), under the covers that held in heat like an oven. Cold air hit her face, including her red nose. She wiggled her toes, glad she had put on socks the night before.

            Her mouth was yelling at her, wanting water and for her teeth to be brushed, but she was stuck. James was still asleep, letting out quiet snores, and there was no way for her to get up (or move at all) without waking him.

            Along with having his face inches away from hers, he had his arms entangled around her like she was a giant teddy bear, with their legs messily intertwined. It would’ve been lovely, especially with the heat coming from him, but her mouth and throat were throwing a bit of a fit. If she didn’t get water inside of her in the next thirty seconds, she might as well die from dehydration.

            But James! Was asleep! And so cute! And she couldn’t do more than wiggle her toes and her nose without waking him!

            What if she found a way to reach her wand and just squirted water into her mouth? Oh, _God_ , no. She couldn’t do that. That was a _horrible_ idea.

            But she was so thirsty... why must water be so delicious? And vital to life?

            Sage lifted her head off the pillow carefully, regretting when bits of cold air wormed under the covers with her when she moved, creating openings. Her eyes scanned the bedroom as if there would be a fresh spring in the corner full of water charmed to go directly in her mouth.

            There was, unsurprisingly, no fresh spring. The room was strangely bright, for a morning. The sunlight coming in the window was not as gold as usual, more of a silver, or a white. Sage didn’t really notice this, as she was too busy straining her not-fully-awake brain in an attempt to figure out her situation.

            Sage bit her lip to keep herself from laughing, as she thought of a “““good”””” joke ( _‘this situation is unpleasant. I’m in quite a bind-- OH MERLIN THAT’S SO FUNNY’_ ). It was incredibly difficult for her not to snort or make any amused noises, but, out of sheer willpower, she kept quiet, deciding to laugh later (when she woke up more, she recalled it, and decided it actually wasn’t very funny and ‘mostly-asleep Sage’ wasn’t a good judge of comedy).

            There was nothing in the room to help her besides herself. So Sage laid her head back onto her pillow, biting onto her tongue in concentration as she moved all her attention down to her legs, feeling the warmth of James’ against hers and slowly moving her left leg.

            She began to strategically worm her leg away from James’, focusing so hard she blocked out the rest of the room, including the cold air and dryness of her mouth.

            It was getting nowhere. Yes, she had made progress, but she was still totally stuck. Her left thigh was almost totally free, but… there was the rest of her.

            When she first began, she’d been giving James worried looks as if he was going to catch her. But as she continued and got more ‘in the zone’, she kept her eyes looking through the opening between the blanket and the bed.

            She let out a sigh, pausing for a second before continuing. A voice startled her, making her freeze, as James had woken up without her noticing. “Are you trying to escape?”

            Sage looked up at him, heart beating fast.

            “No,” she said, not all too convincing. He rose an eyebrow at her.

            “Really? It seems like you’re trying to escape.”

            “No! I’m just--” Sage sighed in defeat, “okay, I’m trying to escape.”

            “Ha!” James grinned, having caught her. His lips quickly turned into a pout, “oh. Why?”

            “I’m dying of thirst,” Sage’s voice wasn’t as harsh as she thought it would be. James’ was his usual deep morning voice.

            “But I’m cold,” James whined, pulling her closer, their chests touching. “Why is it so cold in here?”

            “The walls aren’t very insulated, I’m guessing.” Sage tried to wiggle away, “it is December now, so-- James, let me go!”

            “How do I know you’ll come back?” he asked, grip still tight, ignoring her giggles. “I want to cuddle more. Enjoy this fine December morning. Or noon. Or afternoon. I dunno what time it is.”

            “I’ll come back!” Sage squealed as James moved her around, so he was leaning over her, staring her in her eyes (they looked like weird green blurs without his glasses).

            “Do you promise?”

            “Yes, lovely. I swear.” Sage kissed the tip of his nose, making his face scrunch up. “Will you let me go now?”

            “I dunno…” James pretended to consider it for a second. After littering her face with kisses, he let her go.

            Sage sprung out of bed, a shiver going through her at the loss of heat and introduction to the freezing air of their room. She hurried out of the room and into the bathroom, sticking her mouth under the faucet and drinking the water from it.

            Why must water be so heavenly? Sage’s throat and mouth were no longer feeling sharp and gross, as she brushed her teeth as well.

            With minty breath and quenched thirst, Sage headed back to their bedroom, rubbing her arms (the whole flat was freezing).

            James heard her feet hitting the wooden floor as she came back to him. He pulled the covers up to his neck, closing his eyes, ready to cuddle and sleep again. After debating to put on his glasses, he decided against it, as he wanted to be able to lay his head on his pillow without it being awkward.

            “Woah,” Sage’s footsteps paused as she reached the bedroom window. “It’s snowed, James.”

            “WHAT?!” James threw the covers off of himself, grabbing his glasses and putting them on as he took giant steps with his gangly legs over to the window, stopping beside Sage.

            “IT SNOWED!” he shouted, grin overtaking his face. Sage smiled, amused. He didn’t notice, as he was too busy staring out at the snow. White powder gathered together, creating a blanket over the whole world (or at least the street) outside. “WE HAVE TO GO OUTSIDE!”

            “What about ‘cuddling and enjoying this fine December whatever’?” Sage quoted him loosely, making him wave her off.

            “That,” he groaned, taking leaping steps over to the closet, pulling the door open and diving into the winter clothes, “was before I knew there was _snow_ outside! Now we have to go out!”

            There was a winter coat thrown at Sage she barely caught, blinking like a deer in the headlights. James continued digging through things, pulling out various hats and gloves and scarves.

            Sage let out a groan, falling back onto the bed, face down, the coat beside her. She mumbled into the mattress, “I’m so tired. It’s so cold.”

            “Come on, Sage! We can go play in the snow and come back in and have hot cocoa and stuff! And cuddle by the fire! And we will have thrown snow and shit around!”

            “James…” Sage turned her head, watching James put on warm pants. “We have to at least eat breakfast.”

            “Okay!” James, in full toddler mode, picked out a sweater and put it on, grabbing his coat and gathering the other wintery clothes before rushing out the door and skidding into the kitchen. “Hurry!” he yelled back, quickly following it up with, “oh, and bring me my wand, please!”

            Sage groaned but stood, staring at their bed longingly. A sigh escaped her, her hand grabbing the coat and the two wands on the bedside table. She dragged herself into the kitchen, rubbing her arms - it was even colder there.

            She took one wand in one hand and the other in her dominant, pointing her own wand at the window and shooting a spell at it. James took his wand with a smile, gathering cereal together while Sage grabbed a blanket from the living room, wrapping it around herself as she sat at the table, rubbing her eyes.

            James ate quickly, making Sage worry he’d make himself sick, but he was fine, rushing to get on boots while Sage was on her fifth bite.

            When Sage finished eating, she put her bowl in the sink, heading to the bedroom once more. James was fully ready, buttoning up his coat with gloved fingers.

            “You excited?” she asked, looking into the closet. He nodded, sitting on the bed with fidgeting fingers and bouncing foot.

            Sage got ready slowly, driving James wild, making him whine until she sped up, getting on proper clothes, buttoning up her own coat before asking him for help with putting on gloves (why putting on gloves is so hard, she’d never know).

            “Do you have my Hufflepuff scarf?” Sage asked, putting on a hat over her hair she let down.

            “Uhhhhh…” James rushed over to the closet, digging through the things again (making quite a mess). After Sage got her wand in her pocket, he pulled out a familiar yellow and black scarf, standing and handing it to her.

            “Alright!” said Sage, pulling the scarf around her neck, “let’s go!”

            James grinned, grabbing her gloved hand in hers and dragging her behind him, running down until they had opened the door to step outside.

            If their flat had gotten cold, the street was frozen ten times over. Sage had no doubt it was the coldest she’d ever felt it outside. It was only December first, so she knew they were in for something this winter.

            They hadn’t been able to handle it outside very long, and had to go back inside so they didn’t freeze to death (although James expressed he was totally willing to die in the snow).

            Snuggling in front of a magic fire in their shared flat with multiple heating charms in it, Sage and James listened to records. Sage read a book she’d been meaning to get to (thanks to Mr. Kippit), fingernails brushing against James’ scalp, his head in her lap. After a few songs, Sage began to read to him, and he paid much more attention to the music coming from her words than from the record player. If he was a cat, he would’ve been purring from it all. Scratches on his scalp, warmth from the fire and from Sage, and Sage’s voice... he almost purred, anyway.

  
            Sage and James bustled down the snowy, busy street, rushing out of the bookstore Sage worked in and into the abandoned alleyway perfect for apparating in and out of. They had been good on time, but Mr. Kippit demanded James sit down and have a cup of tea. Their extra time slipped away, along with some more which made them officially late.

            James prayed his parents wouldn’t get mad while Sage was fully focused on getting there. And as they vanished and reappeared outside of the Potters’ home, Sage held her coat closer to her body and dragged James up to the front door.

            Fleamont answered the door, opening it for the two teenagers who tried to hide their heavy breathing (not training for Quidditch was catching up with them) but couldn’t, as their breath appeared in the air, wispy clouds.

            “Sorry we’re late,” said Sage, taking off her gloves in the foyer. “There was something at work.”

            “Oh,” the man took their coats, concerned. “I hope you didn’t have to leave something important.”

            “It’s fine, dad.” James started unlacing his boots, “her boss just wanted to meet me and it ran late.”

            “How nice. Well, we’re glad you got here - this weather’s really been something, hasn’t it?” Fleamont hugged them both, greeting them fully before he ushered them towards the living room, where Euphemia sat with a closed book at her side.

            “Hey, mum,” James stepped up to his mother, who stood and hugged him, only pulling away to hug Sage.

            “How are you two?” she asked, looking at them fondly. “Are things going well?”

            “Things are wonderful,” said Sage, grinning. “Except for the cold, but we make do,” (earlier, they’d been sharing heat by doing something Sage _really_ didn’t want to tell James’ mother about).

            “Good.” Euphemia rubbed Sage’s shoulder, gesturing towards the dining area. “Now, I don’t know about you three, but I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

            The meal, as always, was amazing. Good food and good company made for good times, and all three were all in abundance.

            James’ parents were a delight. It was a nice breath of fresh air for Sage, who loved being treated like a daughter (she hadn’t gotten that for a long time). They really did love Sage and were quite vocal about it when they sung her praise and gave her positive comments.

            It was strange for Sage to have them express to her how proud they were of her (the main thing they focused on was her job - they thought it was spectacular that she was working at a Muggle bookstore, on top of everything else). When they had began, she thought they were simply being kind, but after time progressed, it became clear they were being completely honest.

            “Do you want more potatoes, darling?” asked Fleamont, picking up the bowl and bringing it towards his wife.

            “I’m okay, Monty,” Euphemia declined, “thank you.”

            “Are you sure? At this rate, we’re going to have mounds of food left over. I know how you hate clutter in the kitchen.”

            “It’ll be okay.” Euphemia waved her husband off. “We’ll just send food home with the kids.”

            “Now, now, they aren’t kids anymore,” said Fleamont with a wink to the two. James rolled his eyes, taking another bite of bread.

            “Oh, don’t remind me.” She placed her hand on her heart, looking over at James fondly. “Our boy’s still about ten years old in my eyes.”

            Sage put down her fork as she watched them with interest, her feet crossing under the table. As the couple continued their banter (which occasionally shifted to include James), Sage felt a smile worm onto her face.

            There was a flash of a memory in her mind, totally different from what she was watching. Her mother and father had never been so loving. Sure, sometimes they would get along, but this was different. Instead of being two people who happened to live together, Euphemia and Fleamont were glad to be together.

            Things were not tense at all, very unlike what was housed in her memories. The air was warm inside the Potters’ home. It was made so by both heating systems and the loving nature living there.

            Suddenly, Sage remembered what Sirius told her after Lily and Marlene’s wedding while they sat together, trying to get their breaths back from a particularly draining dance (it was the Clash - what were they supposed to do? _Not_ go hard? How silly). Sage had looked over at James and Lily, who were dancing slowly to a sweet song (James was ruining the tender mood by telling Lily things that made her laugh).

            As they shared looks, Sirius and Sage also shared a conversation, where towards the end, Sirius told Sage if she wanted to know what a marriage with James would be like, she should watch his parents.

            So she did. And through the teasing and bickering between Euphemia and Fleamont, Sage saw the love they shared. She saw the way their banter was not at all malicious, and how it came from a place of love, not unlike that of two best friends.

            It would, of course, be harder for Sage to turn on to the idea of marriage as a positive thing than having a few conversations and watching one successful marriage. After all, the deeply-imbued ideas she had weren’t likely to go away easily.

            The optimist in Sage, the part of her which saw the end to the war and the good in people, had always had its own idea of what married life would be like. But the rest of her, battle-hardened from a young age, scoffed at it.

            It was too much of a fairytale - the idea that everything would always be okay and that two people could live together so long without coming to despise each other. Sage told herself there would always be conflicts and yelling and hatred and that all the bad parts weren’t worth the good.

            Hell, for a while, Sage had a silent resentment for Wendy, all because they lived together. When Wendy would leave socks or boxers or whatever on the floor, Sage would roll her eyes and stuff down the deep-seeded anger. She had to be nice, because they were stuck together.

            So she forced herself to ignore it until she ended up blowing up at Wendy (which was terrible for multiple reasons, the main being the way Wendy didn’t stick up for herself, not to mention the way Sage reminded herself so much of her father when she got angry). It would end with nothing fixed, but Sage would eventually apologize sincerely (unlike her father) and everything would be okay again.

            Then the thoughts of annoyance over Wendy would go away and she’d be best friends the whole way through again, but she couldn’t help but think of what would happen if she lived with someone 100% of the time for more than seven years.

            “Monty, I swear--” Euphemia gave her husband a warning look.

            “It’s just a bit of gelatin, honey!” Fleamont ignored his wife’s looks and winked at James with a familiar smirk.

            “ _Don’t_ you _even_ think it.” Euphemia rose a scolding finger, pointing it at him. Fleamont gave her an innocent look, popped the spoon in his mouth, and swallowed the gelatin.

            Euphemia's shoulders relaxed and her hand fell onto the table, but her eyes stayed narrowed. She knew exactly what he had been doing - he was gearing up to fling his dessert somewhere. If she hadn’t caught him, the next time she cleaned the dining room, she’d find rock-hard gelatin (or moldy and liquid sugar goop) stuck at the bottom of a vase.

            Fleamont looked over at James with a smile and took his spoon out of his mouth just as something squishy and slimy hit his cheek. His head whipped over, but Euphemia had her own spoon in her mouth, looking at him innocently.

            “You’ve got something on your face, dear,” said Euphemia, a glint in her eye Sage knew all too well (she was discovering where James got his mischievous nature from).

            Fleamont stared at his wife with mouth hung open, glancing back over at James and Sage as he wiped off his cheek using his napkin, asking them, “can you believe her?”

            “What on Earth are you talking about, Monty?” Euphemia answered before the teenagers got the chance. “Don’t ask silly questions. I didn’t do anything.”

            “Oh, I suppose there’s a poltergeist living here now?”

            “Don’t be silly, darling.” Euphemia sipped at her water, then said with a smirk, “poltergeists don’t _live_ anywhere.”

            Fleamont sucked his tongue, looking at her with lidded eyes. He turned to the teenagers again. “You two see what I have to deal with? James, your mother is a handful.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Euphemia winked at Sage. “I’ve not done anything.”

            “Oh, of course not. Sage, you were looking right at her. Did she or did she not shoot gelatin at me?”

            “Oh, I didn’t see anything.” Sage met Euphemia’s eyes, smiling subtly.

            “You were looking right at her!” Fleamont whined at Sage who shrugged.

            “I went blind suddenly. These things happen.” Sage rose an eyebrow at James’ father, “but I did see her with a spoon in her mouth, so she must’ve eaten her gelatin. No way it could’ve gotten onto your face.”

            “You two--” Fleamont gestured between the two women, “--are in cahoots with each other, I’m sure of it. No matter,” he leaned back, looking at his son, “James and I will come together.”

            “I dunno, dad.” James sighed, “I think theirs is the winning side.”

            “My own son.” Fleamont shook his head dramatically. “Betrayed by my own flesh and blood.”

            “Now, now, darling. Don’t be so dramatic.” Euphemia placed her fork onto her empty plate, grabbing her husband’s and stacking them, reaching for James’.

            “No, mum, let me--” James took the plates from in front of his mother and collected the rest of the dirty dishes before he gave his wand a wave and sent them floating into the kitchen where they began to wash themselves.

            “Thank you, James,” said Euphemia. “Do either of you want a cup of tea?”

            As it turned out, James’ mother made excellent tea. It was enough to make James and Sage feel warm inside even once they had left, heading out into the cold air again to Apparate home.


	42. Forty-Two

            “Hello, person who doesn’t live here.”

            “Sage, you signed up for having me over all the time the second you decided to move in with James.”

            Sage rolled her eyes, closing the front door behind her, attempting to put her keys in the bowl next to the door without dropping all the bags in her arms.

            “Is James here?” she asked, walking past Sirius lounging on the couch eating biscuits, heading into the kitchen.

            Sirius took another bite of a biscuit, “nope. Just me.”

            “Why are you here and not at your own place?” Sage put all the bags down, taking off her winter coat and such while she walked back to the door.

            “Because you had my favourite type of crisps. I was out. You are too, now.” Sirius swallowed as Sage hung up her coat.

            “Of course we are,” Sage mumbled, entering the kitchen again. “So you’ve just been raiding our kitchen?”

            “Pretty much, yea.” Sirius bit into another biscuit as Sage started to put the groceries she’d just gotten away, sighing again. “Do you want help?”

            “No, thanks.” Sage was quite sure if she had asked him to help, he would’ve ended up eating a considerable amount of the food she’d just gotten.

            When Sage finished, she plopped down on an armchair next to the couch, letting out a sigh and taking off her boots. She pulled off her last boot and set it beside the chair before she fell back, closing her eyes.

            Sirius continued to munch on biscuits, watching her as if she were a character on a mediocre television show he just couldn’t stop watching because it confused him in the best way.

            “Do you want to marry James?” Sirius asked, mouth full of the last biscuit.

            “What kind of a question is THAT?” Sage’s considerably higher voice cracked as she sat up suddenly.

            “...dunno.” Sirius shrugged, swallowing and picking remaining biscuit out of his teeth with his tongue. “I’m curious.”

            “Curiosity killed the cat.” Sage looked around, avoiding his gaze.

            “Yeah, well, I’m a dog, so fuck that. Do you want to marry James?” Sirius repeated himself while he placed the empty biscuit container on the coffee table and sat up properly, folding his hands between his legs and watching Sage intently.

            “Wh-- I’m-- I don’t-- I dunno,” Sage said, giving up and looking at him worriedly. “I mean. I love him, but I still feel like marriage is a big risk and I don’t know if I’m willing to take the risk because it’s a whole lot of commitment and I don’t know if I could handle being married and still love whoever I marry and keep the spark alive because I can totally see it dying with whoever and I’m--”

            “Woah, Sage,” Sirius stopped her. “One, that’s a whole lot of second-guessing yourself I hear. And two, I didn’t ask you if you wanted to get married, I asked you if you want to marry _James_. You’re taking this and forgetting the person you’d be married to, but you need to consider it’s James.”

            Sage hesitated, looking at her sock-clad feet. She let out a breath, continuing, “I guess… marrying James would be a lot like what we’re like right now, right?” Sirius shrugged when she gave him a nervous glance.

            “But we’d just be… more connected. And I’d get to call him my husband... It’d be like a level up, wouldn’t it? When we’re dating, it sounds a bit... flimsy, doesn’t it? Being ‘married’ sounds more secure. More certain. It’s less likely to end, and it’s more devoted.

            “But I’m still worried because what if it dies out - the spark we have now? What if 45-year-old Sage hates her husband? Not even that-- I’m just worried in the future I won’t love him as much as I do right now.

            “We’re so young. He’s still eighteen, I’m freshly nineteen... I mean, I don’t feel young, or too young, but... I dunno.

            “I guess a lot of those things are possible without being married. Maybe I’m just projecting my fears of the future and hiding behind not wanting to get married. But when you’re married, you’re stuck with the person you don’t love anymore. I don’t want that to happen to us - the resentment from being unable to leave.

            “I mean, I want to marry James, sure, but I’m just so worried tha-- wait, hold on.” Sage furrowed her brows, a grin appearing on Sirius.

            “You said you want to marry James.” Sirius said, Sage staring at the ground in confusion.

            “I said I want to marry James.” Sage was baffled, looking at Sirius in confusion. He grinned at her. “I want to marry James?”

            “According to you, yes!” Sirius grinned for a moment before he looked at her and spoke candidly. “But for all we know, you don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I think you two would be happy, but letting that slip out... it doesn’t mean you have to get married. If you want to-- _really_ want to-- you should talk to him.”

            “How the hell am I supposed to do that?!” Sage groaned, back hitting the armchair again. “The second I say I’m okay with marriage, he’ll propose! And I’ve still got doubts! Like, we’ve only been together for a year and--”

            “Sage, you have to tell him! I can--” Sirius cut off Sage, only to be cut off by her again as her face paled.

            “Sirius Orion Black, you better not say anything to him, I swear to Merlin, if you do, I will castrate you,” Sage hissed. Sirius put his hands up in defence.

            “I won’t! I promise! I won’t utter a word.”

            “No words at all! I know you-- ‘not a word’ is just ‘multiple words’.” Sage glared at him but he just rolled his eyes.

            “No, really, Sage, I’m not going to tell him anything. Or show him. Or-- he won’t find out because of me, okay?”

            “...okay.” Sage fell back again, letting out a sigh. “I should get rid of my doubts before I tell him…”

            “Sage, I’m pretty sure you’re always going to have doubts. You’ve just got to look past them to get what you want. You don’t always have to be 100% certain you’re making the right choice. When I left my parents, I was only half sure it was the right decision. But I did it anyways because I couldn’t keep living like that, and here I am. Not dead, and everything worked out.”

            “...okay...” Sage nodded. “I guess I’ve just got to convince myself and come up with a plan of wh--”

            Sage was cut off by the front door opening, and James entered the flat covered in snow. The Scottish girl’s eyes raked over her boyfriend, taking him in. He was more white than brown, his coat coated in snow. Sirius burst out into laughter, holding his stomach.

            “How the fuck-- what did you _do_?” Sage stared at James. He grinned at her.

            “I was going to a movie, because I got bored, but then I saw some kids sledding, and…” he held up his arms and gestured to himself, making snow fall off him in chunks that shattered on the floor.

            Sage held her head in her hands. “Why didn’t you shake off some of the snow?”

            “Y-you look l-like a fucking yeti,” said Sirius through his laughter. “The abominable snowman-- from that movie Lily showed us that one Christmas.”

            “Rupert?” James asked, closing the door behind him with a laugh. “I guess. What’re you two doing?”

            “Eh, nothing, to be honest. I’ve been eating, Sage’s been... well, she just got home, so she hasn’t gotten the chance to do anything.”

            Sage glanced at Sirius, giving him an unreadable look, before she turned back to James and watched him take off his coat, shedding snow onto the floor and pulling off one layer of the snow covering him.

            “I actually just came home for some tea so I don’t die. I’m going back out in a little bit, before it gets dark.”

 

            The smell of pancakes cut through the chill of the kitchen, even though James hadn’t even started cooking them yet. He stirred the batter, heating up the pan, as Sage fiddled with the record player. After shuffling through their many records, the Beatles began to play in their kitchen.

            Sage’s fuzzy-sock-covered feet stepped over to James, her arms wrapping around his middle. He smiled as her cheek pressed against his back between his shoulder blades.

            As a sigh escaped Sage, James spoke, still stirring. “I thought you were hungry,” he said, voice humorous.

            “Mmmph.” Sage’s arms tightened, face embedded in his back. “It’s cold.”

            James chuckled and his chest vibrated against her skin. He put down the bowl onto the counter, then grabbed Sage’s wrists to pull them off him so he could turn and face her. His lips touched her forehead and his arms wrapped around her.

            The next song began, instrumental at first, but soon its lyrics swept through them.

 

_“When I get older, losing my hair_

_“Many years from now_

_“Will you still be sending me a valentine,_

_“Birthday greetings, bottle of wine?”_

 

            The air smelled like pancakes, was far too cold, and had a gentle softness hanging in it. It was like fog, encompassing the two of them and stripping them until they were just two hearts floating in a bowl of sweet music.

 

_“If I'd been out till quarter to three_

_“Would you lock the door?_

_“Will you still need me, will you still feed me_

_“When I'm sixty-four?”_

 

            Feet shuffling on the floor, Sage and James stared at each other as they danced. James’ consciousness flew out of his body, living inside of her green eyes.

 

            “ _You'll be older too_

_“And if you say the word,_

_“I could stay with you.”_

 

            It wasn’t the best music to dance slow to, but they didn’t, frankly, give a shit. James was encompassed by love and the distinct feeling of being exactly where he was supposed to be.

 

            “ _I could be handy, mending a fuse_

_“When your lights have gone._

_“You can knit a sweater by the fireside,_

_“Sunday mornings, go for a ride.”_

 

            The music was all to symbolic and expressed what James left unsaid. It was coming straight through him and to her - he could see it so vividly, feel it in the depths of his bones. Did she?

 

_“Doing the garden, digging the weeds_

_“Who could ask for more?_

_“Will you still need me, will you still feed me_

_“When I'm sixty-four?”_

 

            Fuck, he loved her. How was he supposed to tell her how much when there didn’t seem to be the right words to? He didn’t think they even existed.

 

            “ _Every summer we can rent a cottage_

_“In the Isle of Wight, if it's not too dear._

_“We shall scrimp and save,_

_“Grandchildren on your knee_

_“Vera, Chuck, and Dave.”_

 

 All there was was feeling. Red hot feeling started in his chest and flipped his stomach around before travelling all throughout his body. He felt her in the very depths of his soul. He felt _for_ her.

 

_“Send me a postcard, drop me a line_

_“Stating point of view,_

_“Indicate precisely what you mean to say,_

_“Yours sincerely, wasting away.”_

 

            Was she trying to fucking kill him? She was going to, he had no doubt. But he knew she’d bring him right back to life with a touch of her fingertips to his skin. Sparks would come from her and invigorate him again.

 

            “ _Give me your answer, fill in a form,_

_“Mine for evermore._

_“Will you still need me, will you still feed me_

_“When I'm sixty-four?”_

 

            There was a tapping at the window, a familiar grey-and-black owl the culprit. Sage broke away from James, leaving him to start cooking pancakes as she stepped up to the window.

            A gust of freezing cold air swung into the kitchen and the owl joined it before the window slammed shut again. Sage shivered as goose bumps sprouted all over her body, pausing a second to get the sharp cold to leave her alone, clenching her fists as she attempted to warm herself.

            Harold, the owl, was not happy. He shook off snow, shivering. He was glad to be back indoors, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t unhappy with August for sending anyone a letter while it was so cold.

            Sage cooed at Harold, petting him lightly and giving him soft praises. Harrold ruffled his feathers and hopped around the table after handing Sage her letter, sipping at the water she offered him.

            “August’s moved again,” said Sage, reading the letter. “He’s been doing some things for Dumbledore personally...”

            Sage let out a laugh, head falling back, promptly reading to James, “he writes, ‘if James is reading this, please don’t impregnate my sister. Also make sure she eats her fruit and vegetables’.”

            James grinned, flipping a pancake. “I don’t think either of those things are happening anytime soon.”

            “I hope not.” Her eyes continued scanning the page. “He wants to know if we’re still up to spending Christmas Eve with him.”

            “I am if you are.”

            “I’ll write him back later and tell him... for now, I think Harold’s going to rest.” Harold took off from the table to fly around the flat until he settled down for a nap on Sage and James’ bed.

            Minutes later, James flipped off the heat and placed pancakes onto plates, bringing them over to Sage with a grin on his face.

            “Behold,” he said, unveiling the pancakes to her. They were cooked perfectly, but very obviously in particular, deliberate shapes. “I made them Christmas shapes!”

            Sage, getting off of her spot on the counter, watched him point to various pancakes that did indeed look like what he was describing them as, albeit if it was... not the best art.

            “This one’s Father Christmas, this is a tree, and this is a present!” James held up the ‘present’ (it looked more like a square). Sage stared at him, mouth hung open. He looked down at the plate, proud and giddy.

            Sage’s mind had the singular thought, _fuck it,_ before she said quickly, “marry me.”

            James froze, his smile falling as a wave of pure, utter confusion went through him. The hand which had been pointing at the pancakes fell to his side. “... _what_?”

            “Alright, hold on--” Sage took the plate out of his hands and placed it on the counter, “I feel like that’s just _destined_ to fall--” She turned back to James, who stared at her in bewilderment.

            “Okay…” Sage took James’ hands in her own, cold and shaking, fingers wrapping in his. She debated for a second and let out a breath before she got down on one knee, looking up at him.

            As he stared at her and her worried eyes, the only thing going through his mind was ‘ _?????? uhhhhhhhhhh???????_ ’

            “Alright, so I wasn’t planning on doing this today, or... ever, really, but… James, will you marry me?”

            “...are you pranking me, or…?” James wished he could’ve reached into his chest and calmed his heart - she must’ve been able to hear it, with how fast and heavy the beats were.

            “No,” Sage smiled, “I just... I dunno, kinda just shoved all my doubts aside, and those pancakes... I dunno, I just… I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I... want to be married to you. Fuck all the hesitation I had before, I want to marry you. Marry me.”

            “I-- um?” James’ eyes darted around nervously. How was he supposed to respond? He had literally never imagined himself in this situation, he didn’t even think it was something that could happen, and now…

            “...so…?” Sage chuckled awkwardly. James looked down at her again, eyes wide. His skin was impossibly hot, even with the chill of the air around them. “I know I don’t have a ring or whatever, but…”

            “You’re serious?!”

            “No, I’m Sa-- you know what, I’m not going to make that joke right now.” Sage took in another deep breath, looking at him with a smile. “Yes, I’m serious.”

            James felt like he was spinning on a broom as it fell from the sky. The rush of happiness which overtook him when she almost made a punny joke _in_ her proposal... indescribable.

            “...alright, because you don’t seem to be _able_ to say things right now, I’m just going to... give a speech? Yeah, speech time. Here we go.” Sage was very obviously unprepared, and all she could do was attempt to hype herself up.

            “Umm... well, I don’t know how to tell you how much I love you. I just... every time you smile, it’s like... I can see into your skin - that sounds a bit creepy, but... whatever. I see you move, each muscle and all that, with such emotion and I... this doesn’t really make sense, does it?

            “Shit, well... every time I hear you laugh, it brings a comfort to me I’ve never known.” Sage tried desperately not to sound as anxious as she was. James didn’t notice, too entranced by her words (even though they weren’t the best).  

            “I learn something new about you every moment I’m with you. And that’s invigorating because I want to know everything about you, while I also hope I never do because I want to always have something to look for. But if when we’re super old I know everything, I’ll be okay with it. I’ll just be glad to be with you, like I am now. I can’t believe how much I love doing the most simple stuff with you. Just being there while you put on your shoes or when I’m trying to get the window to work properly makes me so happy, and I don’t want that to end.”

            James was tearing up and biting his lip to stop himself from breaking down.

            “I do want an answer, though…” Sage swallowed, “but, er, you can take you time, if you need to.”

            “Are-- nobody’s-- I can’t-- _yes_?” James stammered, sighing.

            “Yes?”

            “Yes, of course!” James came back to Earth (he’d taken a brief visit to just past the moon), and the two of them grinned as Sage stood, grabbing his face and slamming it onto hers, mouths moving together while staying curled up at the edges.

            “Oh shit,” said Sage, pulling away suddenly. “I should’ve asked your parents for permission first, shouldn’t I?”

            “I don’t think they’ll mind.” James kissed her again, positively glowing.

            “--’ve gotten you a ring--” Sage spoke quickly between kisses. James didn’t bother replying, as he was totally focused on getting closer to her. His hand held the back of her head, pushing her closer while his fingers tangled in her hair. Sage’s hands gripped at his shirt, grabbing and letting go fistfuls of fabric.

            The pancakes got cold, forgotten. James was no longer hungry - he was drinking up Sage, and that was all he needed. James had picked Sage up by her thighs and sat her on the counter, totally focused on her.

            His eyes shot open as she pulled away from him just enough to speak and said his name. Green met hazel, as had happened so many times before, but this was different and new. Sage’s lips were inches away, her hot breath cutting through the cold air to hit him.

            “ _James_ ,” she said again, voice wispy and awestricken. James stared at her bewildered expression through his glasses. “We’re _engaged._ ”

            James smiled, eyes glittering. “We are.” Sage stared at him, as if he didn’t understand the magnitude of the situation.

            “James, we’re going to be _married_. That’s what this means. _Married_ , James.” Sage let out an airy laugh, “we’re going to be married!”

            “We’re going to be married!” James said excitedly. “Soon, right? I don’t want to wait too long.”

            “Soon.” Sage confirmed, nodding. “Soon.”

  
            James told everyone. _Everyone_. And with the same valor and energy each time - he’d rush up to someone, tell them, and almost jump for joy (he actually did, a few times). James Potter assured there wasn’t a soul left in England who didn’t know about their engagement. His voice echoed off of rooftops, going everywhere, until Sage was ready to shove a sock in his mouth just so he’d shut up (“ _yes, James, I know we’re engaged, you don’t have to tell me, I’m the one who proposed_ ”).            But no matter how much he annoyed her, she still loved him. The silence on the night of the full moon was not as welcomed as she thought it would be. She’d much rather have him with her, annoying the shit out of her, than him be out in the freezing cold and dangerous night.

            Sipping lukewarm cocoa and staring at their Christmas tree, Sage curled up into a ball on the couch, blanket over her legs, and tried to read. But words were unreadable, no matter how much she stared at them.

            With a sigh escaping Sage, the book closed, falling onto the couch beside her. Tiny brooms zipped around the tree, decorations a source of light on the dark night. The silence was overbearing. Sage couldn’t be bothered to attempt to fix it, though. She was too busy thinking.

            The other day, when she’d seen Remus, where had that bruise on his face come from? It wasn’t from the full moon, and there hadn’t been any missions for them. He’d done a bad job of coming up with a cover story, too. Something about going through old stuff and a box hitting his head-- possible, sure, but it didn’t take a genius to know that wasn’t what happened.

            Whatever it was, Sage was worried. A glance at the clock told her it was the next day, but that she’d have to wait quite some time before James returned.

            Sage didn’t want to be alone. But who could she go to? Wendy could either be at her parents’ house or at Diana’s... either place, Sage shouldn’t show up in the middle of the night.

            She couldn’t go to the Order, just to hang out. Peter, although he was good company, was also helping with Remus. August could be anywhere and doing anything.

            But despite having nowhere to go and no one to see, Sage had to do something. Fuck it being 1 in the morning, she had to get out of the flat.

            In a flash, Sage was wearing her coat and other such winter clothes, lacing up her boots before she grabbed her wand and keys and hurried out the door.

            Hiding her face in her scarf, Sage stepped outside. Fuck, it was cold. Brown boots stomped through the snow, heading in a random direction down the street.

            It was a beautiful night. The moon was radiating down onto the smooth snow, making it look like silver powder. Snowflakes floated gently around Sage, making their way to join the untouched pile on the ground.

            The sky was a whole mural of color, of blues and purples so dark they almost looked black. Stars were shining, vivid and plentiful, littered around the sky like the freckles on Sage’s nose (which was, at that moment, quite red).

            Sage walked as if she had somewhere to go. Feet sunk through snow before being pulled out again, steps cutting through the perfect snow. Light from a window hit the snow, turning it gold, differing from the silver the moon created.

 

            She walked through a park, running a gloved hand against a railing and scraping off the snow coating it. Skin biting, Sage brushed off a spot on a bench before sitting.

            Her head fell back, eyes on the sky. Snow fell onto her, narrowly missing her eyes multiple times before she closed them, letting out a strong breath which turned into a cloud of smoke above her before it faded away.

            This was better. At least she wasn’t cooped up in their flat, alone. It really did get sad and suffocating when vacant. Maybe they should get a cat. Sirius would hate that.

            A smile wormed onto Sage’s face as she wondered, _what would he do if we got a dog?_

            Sage nurtured the idea for a bit, as she found it funny (but, of course, they would never do so - Wendy had an allergy to dogs), before her eyes opened and trained on the source of the sudden sound of crunching snow. There was a person trudging through snow, alone.

            A girl around Sage’s age kept a scowl on her face as she hugged her arms close. She looked like she’d left a party or something similar, and was not at all dressed for the weather. A short skirt with nothing but fishnets covering her legs - Sage was freezing even in her heavy winter gear, she couldn’t even imagine how cold the girl was. And, as her feet came out of the snow to take further steps, Sage could spot high-heels (closed toe, thank Merlin) on the girl’s feet.

            Should she say something? What even would she say? The girl did _not_ look like she wanted to be bothered, but... perhaps her scowl was just from the cold, not from a totally sour mood.

            Oh, now she was even closer, Sage spotted tracks from running makeup down her face. This brought a whole new level of complexity.

            “This weather’s shit, innit?” Fuck, was that weird? It seemed like something the girl would say, so Sage... said it.

            The girl looked over at Sage, scoffing in agreement. “Sure is.”

            Sage thought the conversation was over then (and was patting herself on the back for relating to the girl properly), but the girl (Sage really should learn her name) spoke again, this time more to herself.

            “Dunno why I’ve gotta live across town.” The girl shook her head, a shiver passing through her. Sage sat up.

            “You’re walking?”

            “Across town? Yea.” The girl clicked her tongue. “I lost my ride. Shitty boyfriend, you know how it is.”

            Sage nodded, trying to seem cool (the girl was crying and freezing to death but she was still one of the coolest people Sage’d ever met. Come on-- those fishnets?! Ripped in exactly the right way? Cool!) and as if she related (she didn’t).

            “Yeah,” said Sage, so unbelievably uncool she honestly would’ve punched herself if the girl hadn’t been there. But she was, so Sage just shook her head and stood slowly, fingers unbuttoning her coat.

            “...what’re you doin’?” the girl watched Sage pull off her coat, revealing a sweater underneath, keeping on her scarf and such.

            Sage held out her coat (a blue, button-up, soft thing which fell down to her thighs) to the girl. “Here,” she said, ignoring her suspicious looks. “Take it. You need it more than I do. I have a sweater, and I only live about a block or two away, you’re across town... honestly, you might die.”

            “...are you sure?” the girl’s whole expression and mood shifted. No longer did she look like a battle-hardened cool kid. She looked honestly shocked anyone would show her kindness. She became softer, weary.

            “I’m sure. Think of it as the universe paying you back for dealing you a shitty boyfriend.” Sage smiled, holding the coat closer to the girl.

            “...thank you.” The girl took the coat, wrapping it around herself (fuck, she looked even cooler with a coat-- it covered up her skirt so it looked like all she wore was fishnets and a coat, which was a look Sage found quite poetic. And she didn’t have her arms in the holes, just holding it around her, appearing casual and-- okay, basically, the girl was a work of art in any situation).

            “I hope your day today is better than your night tonight.” Sage raised a hand in a wave at the girl before she shoved her hands into her pockets with her wand and her keys and walked off.

            Hopefully, Sage wouldn’t freeze to death on her way home. Her sweater wasn’t doing much to help her, but she tensed up in an attempt to keep warmer.

            Her feet crunched through the snow, heading in the opposite direction as her footprints from before.

            Behind Sage, the girl stood still, watching her leave. Her arms travelled into the sleeves of the coat she had been gifted and her hands moved into the pockets to keep her fingers warm. There was something in the pocket her fingers grabbed onto, pulling it out and calling for Sage.

            “Hey, you left--” the girl unfolded the paper, eyes raking over the image printed onto it (thanks to some god somewhere, it wasn’t magical and stayed completely still). It was sweet, and it reminded the girl of a memory she had tried to forget of good times gone bad.

            It was Sage, laying beside James with her hair spread out around her head in the grass, a laugh escaping her, while James looked up at whoever had taken the picture (Peter) with a pretend-annoyed look.

            “Hey!” the girl called out, but Sage had turned the corner. “Fuck.”

            Struggling legs moved as fast as they could through the snow - heels did not agree with the terrain. The girl huffed, holding the coat closed with one hand, the other holding the picture.

            There was nobody else on the street. The girl stared at the ground, where a trail of footsteps lay for her to follow.

            They ended in the middle of an alleyway. She stood in the alley, totally confused, as she stared at the footsteps which ended abruptly. It was obvious Sage had stood for a second, but she hadn’t taken any steps forward.

            Gemma wondered if she was a ghost, but told herself that was too silly. The woman who had given her a coat had saved her life in more ways than one, so Gemma decided her proper title would be ‘guardian angel’. No-- ‘fairy godmother’. That was much more poetic, and Gemma had always wanted to be a princess.

            So Gemma folded the photo up again and put it back into the pocket she’d found it in and walked out of the alleyway, heading home, trying to not think about her night (fuck Jacob, fuck Lindsay, and fuck Gavin. Those assholes might’ve said they didn’t mean anything by it, but Gemma knew they were lying. Either way, she was better off without them. Maybe, tomorrow - or today - she could go back to Lavender. Apologize. Really mean it. Not give up on herself so quickly again. Try to live a life like her fairy godmother would want and not be too harsh on herself if she didn’t get there).

 


	43. Forty-Three

            “No, James. I’m making cookies. It’s one of the only fucking things I can make. Let me have this.”

            “Okay, but just--”

            “James Potter, I swear, shut the fuck up. Just because I can’t make good ravioli doesn’t mean I can’t fucking bake.”

            “...the ravioli was really bad, though.”

            “Shut up. I’m making cookies and you’re going to fucking eat and enjoy them. And you’ll actually like them. I can make cookies. Fuck you.”

            “Just--”

            “I _will_ cut your hand off. Don’t test me.” Sage grabbed the flour from the pantry, turning around to glare at James. “Baking is much more precise than cooking, which makes it more Potions-esque. I’m good at baking. In an hour or whenever, you’ll be begging me to bake more. You’ll see.”

            “Okay…” James backed away from Sage, heading into the living room to be free from her glares. He wiped his hands on his sweater to get rid of the water on them, then plopped onto the couch and looked at the window. The snow hadn’t stopped. In fact, it was getting worse. All he could see out the glass was white. A sigh escaped him. They wouldn’t be able to go out anytime soon, without a doubt.

            Being stuck inside was one of James’ least favourite things. If he was inside because he wanted to be, he was fine. But when the weather told him what to do... fuck the weather.

            There wasn’t anything to do inside. Sage was making cookies, apparently, and... he had nothing to do. Okay, maybe he had things he could do (he could read, or finish knitting the sweater he was making his mum...) but he didn’t want to.

            Honestly, the only thing he wanted to do was be irresponsible.

            A crack echoed through the flat as Sirius appeared in the living room, eyes shut.

            “Please tell me if I open my eyes I won’t have a repeat of... that incident.”

            “It’s okay, Pads,” James said, “it’s just me and I have clothes on.”

            Sirius made a face, debating if he should trust James or not, before he opened his eyes and sighed, shoulders relaxing.

            “Ah, good.” He took long strides over to the couch, sitting beside James. “I’m in the mood to make bad decisions.”

            The boys met each other's eyes before identical smirks appeared on their faces.

 

            “Alright, James, be ready to eat yo-- what the fuck.” Sage, who had just put her cookies in the oven, walked into the living room and stopped in her tracks the second she looked up.

            “Oh, er, hi, Sage.”

            “Sirius, would you mind telling me why my Christmas tree is on fire?”

            “That’s--” Sirius chuckled awkwardly, his wand lowering as he looked over at James (who was, at the moment, in deer form). “That’s a funny story.”

            “Mm-hmm.”

            “Yeah. Well, James thought it’d be funny if we--”

            “You know what? I think I probably don’t want to hear this story right now, actually.” Sage felt around her jeans to grab her wand and shot water at the tree (some of the water hit the boys - totally an accident, of course).

            “Okay,” said Sirius, sticking his wand into his pocket.

            “James, you can’t quite sneak away while you’re a gigantic deer.” Sage stared at Prongs, who had frozen in place with his eyes darting between Sage and Sirius.

            “Mate, just turn back,” Sirius walked toward Sage and pat her on the shoulder before he headed into the kitchen.

            James made a distressed deer noise as he watched Sirius leave. Sage crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at him. With another noise which might’ve been a sigh (it didn’t sound like it), James transformed himself back into a human.

            “Heyyyy, Sage…” James tried to seem casual while stepping away from the wet and burnt tree, on his way to join Sirius.

            “James…” Sage sighed tiredly as music began to play in the kitchen (Sirius had discovered the new Ramones album among Sage’s collection).

            “Heh heh, I’m just going to…” James tried to sneak past her, but she put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

            “Fix it.” She pointed at the charred Christmas tree and fallen ornaments. James groaned, but pulled out his wand nevertheless. As he muttered spells to fix things, Sage turned around and walked into the kitchen, where Sirius sat on the floor, staring through the glass into the oven.

            Upon hearing Sage’s footsteps, he leaned his head back to look at her. “Cookies?”

            “Yeah, but they aren’t done.” Sage sat at the table, resting her elbows on it.

            “Cookie dough?”

            “...not _really_ , but... you can lick the bowl.”

            Sirius shot up, grabbed the bowl and spoon, and joined her at the table as he nibbled on them. They sat there for a minute, listening to the music, before James came into the room, twirling his wand in his fingers.

            “It’s fixed,” he said, sitting at the table with them. “Like it never happened.”

            Sage sighed for a solid 5 seconds, making Sirius look at James with raised eyebrows. The timer went off, making her shut up and pull the cookies out of the oven. Sirius stood right behind her, eyes glued over her shoulder at the tray of cookies.

            His hand reached out to grab one and got close enough to feel the heat of them before Sage slapped it away.

            “They have to cool,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “And I want to decorate them. Leave them alone.”

            “Okay, okay!” Sirius held up his hands in mock surrender, eyes flashing from Sage to the cookies for only a moment. Sage narrowed her eyes at him before she turned to put the oven mitt away.

            “Fuck, ow--” Sirius said, huffing with his mouth open. “Hot. Ow, ow, ow. Howt.”

            “Sirius Black, I swear--”

            “Hawt. Haah. Hewlp.” Sirius fanned his mouth, trying to help his burning tongue. Sage couldn’t help the smile inching onto her face.

            “You idiot.”

            “Haaaaaaaahhhhh.”

            “Honestly, you’ve brought this upon yourself, and I feel no mercy.”

            “HAAAAH.”

            “Is it good, though?” James asked. Sirius stopped making noises to stare at James in bewilderment.

            “Ey cont eely taste eynetheng.”

            “What?”

            “Eye. Cownt. Ayst. Ayenythin.”

            “...so, good, or…?”

            “Fawk ewe, Hamese.”

 

            James awoke on Christmas morning all-too excited. The very second he opened his eyes, he sat up to shake Sage awake.

            Sage, laying face down and completely submerged in the covers, was not open to waking (especially if this meant she’d have to leave her warm bed). She let out a groan, keeping her eyes squeezed shut. Perhaps, if she didn’t move, she’d be able to fall back asleep and go back into her dream (it was quite strange - she lived in a world totally made of candy, but every time she tried to take a bite out of a tree or something, Minerva McGonagall would appear, in cat form, and warn her about the lasting effects of eating too many sweets).

            James let out a whine, shaking Sage again. “ _Sage_ ,” he said, putting on his glasses. “It’s _Christmas_.”

            “It’ll be Christmas all day.” Sage didn’t move as she spoke into the pillow. “I’m sleepy.”

            “ _But Saaagge_ ,” James whined, falling back onto his pillow.

            “August kept us up too late last night. I’m too sleepy.”

            James sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “All I wanted was a nice Christmas morning with my soon-to-be wife. We can drink tea and nap on the couch after we open presents if you want.”

            Sage turned her head so she could open one eye at him. He looked over with a sweet smile.

            “It’ll be our first Christmas as an almost-family.”

            “If we wanted a family Christmas, just invite over Wormy, Pads, and Moony.” Sage turned onto her side, eyes not fully open. “I don’t know if they’re your brothers or our sons.”

            “...hard to tell, really.” James grinned. As much as he was looking forward to his and Sage’s first Christmas, he did wish his friends were there.

            “I think sons. Moony’s obviously the older, more mature one who will most likely take care of us when we’re elderly. But then he’s taught Sirius, the troublemaker, everything he knows. Pads finds a special pleasure in driving us insane, and Wormtail’s the sweet one. The baby who goes along with his brothers just because he wants them to think he’s as cool as them.”

            As James nodded in consideration, Sage’s eyes began to close again. She could already see the familiar tabby standing in a field of chocolate daisies.

            “Sage,” James shook her again, her eyes snapping open. “I’m going to go make food. Special Christmas breakfast. That’s all I’m going to do. Not even going to look at the Christmas tree. Nope. Just going into the kitchen. That’s it.”

            “We can open presents before you make breakfast, lovely.” Sage opened her eyes again to sit up while James stood suddenly.

            “Yes!” James hurried out of the room, rushed towards the Christmas tree, and plopped down in front of it to look at the presents, reading the labels.

            Sage rubbed her eyes. This is what she got for falling in love with a five-year-old. Never a dull moment, she supposed.

            Ah fuck-- once again, it was cold as balls in their room. Why the hell did they have to live in such a shitty flat while it was becoming one of the worst winters Sage’d ever seen?

            As her freezing feet pitter-pattered down the hall to the living room, Sage wished they lived somewhere else. Maybe a nice house, with a nice, controlled climate. How dreamy. She’d have plants on the windowsills, and it’d be super cozy, and Sirius would come over and sing for them while Remus played his guitar, and Peter’d help them choose decor and such (he had a good eye for knick-knacks and art and the like, even if Sirius was the one out of them who actually knew how to decorate overall).

            “James, what on earth _are_ you doing.”

            “You were taking too long, and technically, this isn’t _opening_ anything, sooo…”

            “James, put down the wand.”

            “Okay! Just... come _here_. I wanna open stuff.”

            “You know, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to marry four-year-olds, so... I guess we can’t get married.”

            “Shut up.”

            Sage grabbed a knitted blanket from off the couch to drape around herself before she sat cross-legged on the floor. James instantly handed her an assortment of presents, turning back to his own and ripping them open.

 

            “Don’t make too much-- we’ve got your parents in a couple hours. They’re sure to feed us, and you know your mum’ll make too much food again.”

            “She’s gotten in the habit of making so much at Christmas for those parties, this year she’ll dump all that food onto us.” James cracked an egg, throwing away the shell. Sage yawned.

            “How trashed do you think Diana’s place is going to be after _her_ party tonight?”

            “Not as much as Sirius’ will be on New Years.”

            “Ah, that’s true.”

            “Do you think I put on too much pepper last time? I thought I did…” James stared at the pepper grinder as if he was interrogating it before glancing back at Sage.

            “No, I liked it. Before, I couldn’t taste it all too well.”

            “Alright…” James began to grind pepper onto the eggs just as a knock came at the door. Sage stood, blanket still around her, to open it. The familiar click came from the lock before she pulled it open and was immediately greeted by the three other Marauders.

            “Ayyy! Sage!” said Sirius, arms open wide as he waltzed into the flat. He sniffed the air, perking up and heading into the kitchen, where Sage could hear him say, “ayyy! James!”

            “Hey,” said Peter, hugging Sage.

            “Hello, Wormy. Having a nice Christmas so far?” Sage asked, smiling at him once they pulled away.

            “Eh, it’s been okay. I mean, I just woke up, so... we’ll see.” Letting out a chuckle, Peter trailed off after Sirius into the kitchen.

            Remus was the last to enter and stepped through the doorway with the hint of a smile which soon turned to a grin.

            “Hello, Sage.” Remus leaned down to hug Sage, closing the door behind him.

            “Oh, Remus.” Sage pat his back before pulling away to grin at him, “happy Christmas.”

            “Happy Christmas.” Remus was the only one of the three who bothered to take off his coat before continuing further into the flat, hanging it onto the coat rack. “It’s really cold in here.”

            Sage nodded tiredly. “I know. No matter what we do, it’s always too cold. I think there might’ve been another wizard living here before us who loved having it cold. All our magic making it warm fails. And with it being so cold out... I’m dying here, Moony.”

            “I’m sure. You’re holding onto that blanket for dear life.”

            “It’s soft.”

            “I’m not judging.”

            The two shared a grin before walking into the kitchen, where James was waving off Peter, who was staring at the uncooked food. Sirius sat on the counter with his legs dangling off the edge and swinging restlessly.

            “Oh, Sage,” said Sirius, hopping off the counter and stepping up to her. Sage was about to say something when he started to pull up his shirt, revealing a new tattoo on his side.

            It was no bigger than the size of her palm, green, and... leafy. Sage squinted her eyes at it, trying to figure out what it was. Obviously some plant, but she didn’t know exactly what. Or why he’d gotten it (although, Sirius was known for getting tattoos for no reason other than he thought they looked cool, as was revealed by the tiny cow on his ankle).

            “It’s sage! I got a tattoo of sage for Sage!”

            Sage, heart warmed (even though the leaves didn’t look much like sage - they were wider than sage leaves, and the coloring was a bit of, but it was sweet either way), threw her arms around Sirius, causing the blanket she wore to drape over him as well.

            “You buffoon,” said Sage after she had pulled away, a grin on her face. He held up his shirt again.

            “It’s supposed to grow flowers in the Spring.” Sage stared, eyes raking over every little bit of it.

            Fuck, tattoos were cool. _So_ cool. She wanted one, she really did, but... she hadn’t gotten any. And every time she looked at Sirius’ tattoos, she just... _wanted_ one. He was so cool. The tiny cow on his ankle made him look like a rock star. How the hell he could pull it off, she didn’t know.

            “I love it.” Smiling at Sirius, Sage held the blanket around herself tighter. Sirius turned to show it to the others. James looked over and shrugged.

            “Not as cool as the stag.”

            “He only got that because of that bet, James.”

            “ _Why_ he got the cooler tattoo doesn’t matter, it’s still cooler.”

            “Yeah, I dunno. The stag’s a bit big. Overbearing in a way. A little obnoxious.”

            “Peter, I _will_ not give you food.”

            “Okay!” Peter backed off, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater.

            “Wait, hold on--” James turned back around, giving Sirius a once-over, stopping at his familiar trousers. “Are those my joggers?”

            “Maybe…” Sirius trailed off, taking a step back. James groaned.

            “I thought I left those at Hogwarts or something - I haven’t been able to find them for months. Now I know why, I guess.”

            “...do you want them back?”

            “Sirius, if you start stripping in my kitchen, I swear--”

            “I won’t! I won’t take them off until I have to. They’re very comfortable.”

            “I know! They’re mine!”

 

            The Potters had a multitude of Christmas traditions, but Sage knew which was her favourite the second they began. In a Santa hat, next to James in his sweater with the deer knitted onto it, Sage listened to Fleamont Potter read ‘the Night Before Christmas’.

            It was incredibly sweet. In the moment, the only thing to pay attention to was his voice. He was an expert, in all honesty. With words like honey that were still rough like sand, he guided them all through a children’s storybook. It was short, but it felt perfect. Like she was sitting in a photograph.

            And when Euphemia sneezed in the middle, it didn’t matter, because that was a part of it being perfect. The flaws made it like a real photo. There was the authenticity that made Sage feel warm and liquidy. She wasn’t even aware of the smile on her face, but it didn’t leave until when, at Diana’s party, she spilled a generous amount of butterbeer on herself.

            But her good mood wasn’t ruined. She just dried off and went back to having a good time, dancing with Peter and cheering on Sirius when he decided to take off his shirt on top of a table.


	44. Forty-Four

            The aftermath of Sirius’ New Year’s party was overwhelming but unsurprising. Through the freezing bite of the air outside, Sage helped Peter take out massive trash bags full of party-remnants left by people who had been enraptured by the feeling of energy from the party and didn’t care about keeping clean. Sirius’ flat had been practically trashed, but cleanup was helped with the use of magic.

            Eyes squinting, Sage viewed the sky above. It was beginning to lighten up as the sun rose. Black began to turn blue, pink, white, yellow, gold, red, and orange - a whole array of colours all from the sun.

            Cold winter air bit at her skin and exhaustion flowed through her. It wasn’t snowing anymore, but the layer from the day before crunched underneath her boots. The snowflakes froze together to form more of a layer of ice than of powder.

            Immediately after Peter lugged the last bag into the trash, he shoved his hands into his pockets. His nose was already bright red and runny, even though they’d only been outside for all of a minute.

            Sage, shifting her weight between her two feet in a desperate attempt to keep herself from freezing in place, waited for him to accompany her back into the building. It seemed, from the opening hours of 1979, the year was going to be cold. Hopefully, the sharp freeze wasn’t an omen. If it was, Sage would, without a doubt, die before Spring.

            Her hands remained firmly in her pockets as she offered him an arm. Feet shuffled back into the building, and the second the door opened, their bodies relaxed at the rush of warm air. The door slammed shut behind them while they waited to be warm enough to move again.

            “Guess an outdoor wedding’s out of the question, isn’t it?” Peter joked, thick fingers fumbling with the buttons on his coat. Sage’s head fell back in a laugh as she unzipped her own (brand new) coat.

            “Most definitely. Unless we’re willing to wait until Jack Frost has let go of his unrelenting grip on London at the end of Winter. Which we most definitely are not.” The two made their way down the hall to Sirius’ door.

            “How is the planning going, by the way?” Peter asked politely, still smiling. Sage chuckled awkwardly.

            “It’s... going.” Frozen fingers reached out to open Sirius’ door. “We’re driving James’ mother mad - she’s happy we want to get married so soon, and she’s on board, but she’s been... very... I dunno if _worried_ is the right word, but…”

            Peter laughed jovially, hanging up his coat and taking Sage’s from her as she closed the door behind them. As it locked, James poked his head into the entryway and left the living room to join them.

            “Sirius passed out,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Remus is ‘napping’ on the couch, or so he says. He’s passed out as well.”

            “Do you want to go home?” asked Sage, stifling a yawn she caught from Peter.

            “Dunno. What’re you doing, Wormtail?”

            “Most likely finishing cleaning up here. I’m the most awake of all of us, and Merlin knows Padfoot most likely won’t do anything about the mess.” Peter shrugged, shifting his weight between feet. “You two can go, though. If you want.”

            “You sure?”

            “Prongs, you look like you’re already half asleep. Go to bed.”

            “Thank you, Wormy.”

            “Yeah, thanks, Pete. Have a nice night. Er, morning, I guess. See you later?”

            “Yeah, for sure.”

            The two left in simultaneous cracks, vanishing from the entryway and leaving Peter alone. His smile fell instantly, replaced by an annoyed scowl, as he took steps forward into the living room which only hours ago was full of drunken people, but was now silent and bare.

            Remus was indeed passed out on the couch. Though, he did seem much more organized about it than Sirius most likely was.  A blanket lay on top of him and a pillow underneath his head, and he lay on his side with his eyes closed peacefully and soft breaths escaping his lips.

            Peter assumed Sirius was on his bed, face-down with half of his limbs hanging off the edge. He was probably snoring and still had his clothes on. Most likely, at least one shoe remained on his feet as he lay on top of his covers he hadn’t bothered to straighten up from the night before.

            Peter’s eyes stared at Remus with a curiosity he tried to leave behind him long ago but was never able to.

Remus wasn’t the most attractive. He wasn’t like James, with his princely good-looks. He was the opposite of Sirius’ rebelliously charming beauty. But still, even with the scars, Remus was _pretty_. James was messily, naturally handsome. Sirius was gorgeous, naturally cool. But Remus was rugged. He was soft. Effortless. He wasn’t breathtaking and he wasn’t particularly enthralling, but sometimes he would wear something, or do his hair some way, or sit at a certain angle, and he would be pretty.

            Peter wasn’t any of those things. Not in any way, shape, or form. He didn’t have Sirius’ perfect hair. His hair was just… there, on his head. He didn’t have James’ blinding grin. His smile was awkward, uncomfortable. He didn’t have Remus’ chocolate brown eyes which glittered with hidden humour. His eyes were beady and desperate and _hungry_.

            When he was younger, he looked up to all of his friends. They were his idols and he was desperate to fit in with them.

            But he didn’t. And no matter what they said to him, no matter how they treated him, no matter how much they loved him, that didn’t change. He still didn’t fit in with them.

            Over time, they’d stopped noticing how odd Peter was compared to them. When people gave Peter _looks_ reminding him just how much he didn’t fit in, they stopped noticing.

            It wasn’t they didn’t care. No, they just had thicker skin than he did. They told him to ignore those people, and they did, because they could. But Peter didn’t. He couldn’t. Every single time anyone looked at him with his friends, he noticed.

            So he tried to change himself to be more like someone who deserved to be their friend, to be like one of them. But that failed. Fuck, that failed. The looks he got then were even worse because they came from the boys themselves.

            When he mirrored James, when he laughed exactly when and how and for how long Sirius did, when he repeated the funny comment Remus made, they would turn to him and tell him to stop.

            _“You don’t need to be one of us to be one of us. Just be yourself. Blah blah blah_.” What bullshit. If him being himself was enough, he’d be enough.

            He hadn’t noticed it then. It took him a while to notice it, really. His idolizing of James and Sirius and Remus slowly turned to resentment. Subtle resentment that let him still treat them exactly the same but gave him burning feelings inside and scowls on his face.

            But they didn’t notice. They never fucking noticed.

            So he went on the way he had been. Right by their side, with that quick mind of his focused only on himself.

            Fuck, it wasn’t like they weren’t his friends anymore. No, he still loved them. _Fuck_ , he loved them. They were, and would always be, his brothers.  

            But he’d never be like them, and he fucking hated that. But he loved them, so he stuck around. And, deep inside of him, his hatred of himself turned onto them.

            But he didn’t notice. How could he love and hate someone at the same time? He loved his brothers. He couldn’t imagine a life without them, and he didn’t want to. But with that, he would no longer die for them. That didn’t make him a bad person.

 

            “James Potter, what on Earth _are_ you doing?”

            “...going into the living room?” James froze in place, eyes raking over Sage, who had just left their bedroom. She stared at his face with hands on her hips.

            “What the fuck is that?” she said, making James go into ‘I’ve never done anything wrong in my whole entire life and honestly fuck you for assuming otherwise’ mode.

            “To what are you referring?” Perhaps he could just play dumb. That could work.

            “That.” Sage pointed at his face. Ah, nevermind.

            “This?” James decided playing dumb was still a good idea. Bad move, mate. “This is my face.”

            “The thing _on_ your face.”

            “My glasses?”

            “ _The fuc-- James I swear to Merlin_.” Sage groaned, “there is a fucking moustache on your face.”

            “Oh, _that_!” James chuckled, “you should’ve said.” Sage almost slapped him. “Do you like it?”

            “...do _you_ like it?” Sage’s eyes narrowed. If he _really_ liked it, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But fuck, it was bad. He looked like a middle aged man. Yeah, it might’ve been in style then, but that didn’t mean it was good or James could do it.

            “I just thought,” he began, fingers playing with the facial hair as he played mature, “since it’s a new year, I should be new James. New James has a moustache.”

            “... _so how much do you like it_?”

            James let out a whine, “how much do you hate it?”

            Sage bit her lip to hold back a laugh. “Uh. It’s, er, it’s... not my _favourite_ thing ever.”

            “You hate it.”

            “Just a bit.” James stared at Sage until she gave up. “Okay, a lot.”

            A groan came from underneath the hair Sage couldn’t look away from. “I thought I looked cool.”

            “Hey,” Sage stepped forward, hand on his chest. “If you shave it off, I’ll be willing to kiss you.”

            James gasped dramatically, “how rude.” His arms wrapped around Sage’s middle, pulling her closer to him, ignoring her grimace as he tried to kiss her. A laugh erupted from her as she pushed him off her that echoed around the hallway.

            After her struggle, Sage leaped away from him and out of his arms. She ignored his pouting and told him, “go shave,” before she walked into the living room.

            James emerged a fresh, baby-faced version of himself. He took one step into the living room, making Sage look up from her papers and grin.

            “Much better.” She pat the spot beside her, prompting James to take long strides to plop down beside her and immediately lean over to kiss her. Response different from only minutes before, Sage grinned and kissed him back. He kissed her cheek, then her collarbone, and finally rest his chin on her shoulder.

            “What’re you doing?” he asked, looking at the papers in her lap.

            “Wedding stuff. It’s hard.” Sage turned her head so she could kiss his cheek. “Help.”

            “Alright,” he sighed, taking some of the papers and looking them over, brows furrowed. Sage sat still, waiting for him to say something funny. But he just looked up at her with those hazel eyes, hair all over the place, glasses just a bit crooked, and gave her real suggestions.

            Of course he was also good at wedding planning. He was good at literally everything else.

  
            Sage wished he was there, she really did. Euphemia basically forced her to not bring James, even though he really was the best (behind Wendy, obviously) at figuring out what looked good on her.

            And she’d be able to make jokes about really dumb dresses if he was there - Wendy’d just say something like, _“well, everyone has different tastes,_ ” even if the dress was literally the ugliest thing on the planet. Sage couldn’t handle looking at some of those dresses without making jokes. She’d die.

            But! Sirius was willing to come! And Euphemia was fine with it (she was actually fairly happy, as this meant she got to spend time with her second son)! He was her savior.

            So when Wendy, Sage, Euphemia, and Sirius made their way to look at dresses, Sage was prepared. Vaguely. There were about five hundred thousand options and she knew what colour she wanted (white, but even that was flexible).

            Euphemia knew exactly what she was doing, though, and grabbed a saleswoman straightaway. The two of them gave Sage studious once-overs before vanishing into the rows of white. Sage hadn’t even taken her coat off all the way.

            “So, how’s Diana?” Sirius asked Wendy as the three of them vaguely inspected dresses at the front of the store. Taking off her coat, Wendy shrugged.

            “Good. I haven’t gotten to see her for a few days now, though.” Sage put a hand on Wendy’s shoulder, giving her a concerned look. Wendy waved her off, dry hands taking off her gloves. “No, it’s nothing bad. I’ve been busy at the Ministry, you know, and she’s got... her own stuff. No big deal.”

            “If you say so.” Sage took her hand off of Wendy and brushed a bit of her brown hair which had fallen out of her bun behind her ear.

            “Anyways, we’re looking for a wedding dress.” With a comically surprised look, Wendy got Sage to let out a laugh. “How wild!”

            “It is strange, isn’t it?” said Sage. Crinkling up her nose at a dress with brown ribbon falling off of it randomly, she glanced at Sirius to share a moment of ‘we both hate this and find it so bad it’s funny’.

            “You’re getting married and I’m not ready for it.” Wendy sighed, “I can still remember when you were thirteen and you built that shrine to--”

            “WOOOOAAAAAHHHH, Wendy, that’s enough, we don’t need to talk about _that_.” Sage rushed to cut off her best friend, but it was too late - Sirius perked up beside her. He heard. Fuck.

            “Excuse me, but I think we very much _do_ need to talk about that,” he said. Sage turned to him and pointed at his chest harshly.

            “ _No._ ” Sage turned back to Wendy, “do _not_ tell him about that. He _will_ use it in his best man speech, and I will kill both of you.”

            “Alright! Alright,” Wendy held up her hands in surrender, but winked at Sirius the second Sage looked away from her.

            Euphemia had a trail of dresses floating behind her and the saleswoman rushed ahead to bring Sage into a dressing room. Hopeless, Sage glanced back at her friends for any kind of help or answers, but they just shrugged at her and followed after Euphemia.

            The second Sage came out in the first dress, Sirius already had a comment coming out of him Wendy had made him promise not to mention for a while (“ _if she finds out I told you and I’m still around, she_ will _kill me_ ”) but he had found just too hilarious not to mention, after he had calmed down from his bout of laughter.

            “It’s pretty, Sage.” Sirius smirked, biting the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. “It looks good. Davy would be impressed.”

            Sage’s head snapped over to Wendy, who had her head in her hands. She sucked her teeth, crossing her arms.

            He wasn’t going to let this die. Now he knew, she would be living in her own personal Hell where all of her friends constantly reminded her of how obsessed she had been with David Jones (aka ‘Davy’) when she was younger. It wasn’t nineteen year-old Sage’s fault that thirteen year-old and younger Sage _really_ loved the Monkees.

            For a little background, Davy Jones was one of the four members of the popular band ‘The Monkees’, a boy band around in the late 1960s. The Monkees had their own TV show for a while and produced many hit songs, including ‘ _I’m a Believer_ ’, which you all probably remember from the cover in Shrek. Davy Jones was the only British member of the Monkees and, by all means, an absolute babe (at the time). Sage was totally in love with him. She only discovered them through Wendy and thus didn’t know they existed until ‘71, just before they broke up.

            “You told him?” Sage hissed at Wendy, ignoring the (not pretty) dress she had on.

            “Just a _little_ ,” Wendy mumbled, ignoring the daggers Sage sent in her direction. Sirius snorted, unable to stop himself.

            In the moment, Sage had two roads to take. One, she yelled at Sirius and told him to ‘shut the fuck up, it was a long time ago’ and he’d be even more amused and tease her literally all the time.

            Two, she could act cool. ‘Yeah,’ she could say, ‘I had a thing for Davy Jones. So what? He was - and is - attractive and charming. I would leave James for him if he aske--’ no, she should stop there (even if, perhaps, just a little bit, it was true. Old habits die hard). But Sirius would still tease her, no doubt.

            Or, maybe, there was a third option where she went back in time and stopped Wendy from telling him. Or she went back and stopped herself from liking him so much. Nah, that wasn’t going to happen. Her love for him transcended time traveller influences - she’d still encounter him at some point. Tiny Sage would look into those chocolate brown eyes and fall madly, deeply in love.

            “Sirius Black, I will hex you,” Sage said, not very threatening, as she was hindered in movement by the dress she wore.

            “Oka-” he snorted. “Alright. I’m okay. I won’t laugh.” Sirius brought his fist up to cover his mouth, stifling his laughter.

            “For your information, Sirius, Davy Jones was and still remains an idol. I don’t regret my love for him.” Sage spoke confidently, shifting to mumble, “I might regret my actions, but…”

            “We-- er, Wendy said you tried to send him an e--” Sirius snorted, unable to hide how amused he was, “sorry, an enchanted letter?”

            There was an annoyed look on Sage’s face as she tried to hide the smile she was sprouting. “Perhaps.”

            “And she said you got as far as the Owlery before it all blew up? That’s to say the letter literally caught fire and exploded?” he questioned her, having the time of his life.

            “...there’s a _possibility_.” Sage’s chest shook silently. She couldn’t laugh. It was so, so funny, but she couldn’t fucking laugh. And that was incredibly difficult. She had forgotten about the letter. Holy shit, she was dumb.

            “Yeah, okay, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” He threw up his hands, “nothing will ever top that, and I’m done.”

            “You can’t tell James. Or use these things in your best man speech.”

            “Why on earth would I not?”

            “Because there’s more. I will tell you the whole, detailed story, if by the end of... say, March, James doesn’t know. And you didn’t use it in your speech.”

            “Throw in a few occasional snippets and you’ve got a deal.”

            “I-- ugh, fine. I hate you.”

            “And you love Davy. We’ve established this already.”

 


	45. Forty-Five

            “Ah, fuck--” Sirius’ wand flew out of his hand as a flash of red hit him, only to be caught by James behind him. “Thanks, mate.”

            The wand was passed between the boys and in a split second they were both sending spells at the men across the street again. Sharp cold air tore into their skin, but they made no move to leave.

            Cracks of light flew through the space between the differing sides, bouncing off of invisible shields in bursts. Darkness was invaded by spells and the light they brought. A heaviness hung around them, brought about only by the tenseness of battle.

            Sage flung a spell at the man closest to them just as James took a step back to brace himself as he blocked a particularly strong red light. To think only hours ago she was with Euphemia and Wendy, planning her wedding, was bizarre. How something so light and happy could exist during such a time of turmoil she didn’t know. But she was eternally grateful it was.

            This was just the way of her life as an adult. Fighting a war at night, planning where to order flowers from during the day (along with working at the bookstore). Her twelve year-old self never would’ve imagined.

            “Do you think they just like the cold? And that’s why they feel the need to fight outside during one of the coldest winters we’ve been alive for?” Sirius groaned. A spell hit the ground by his foot. “Oh, come on, that was just pathetic.”

            “Maybe. Maybe they’re like dementors and they suck all the heat out of-- augh! Places.” Sage shot a purple light at the man who seemed to focus on her, trying to respond while she kept herself from dying (her motivation? The cake tasting was happening in a few days. If she died before it... her poor soul would never go to rest).

            “Or they’ve just got cold hearts.” James blocked another spell, taking a step forward before he shot another. “Or they really want to keep up the look they have going on.”

            “The dark and brooding look? Yeah, makes sense.”

            What the man who focused on Sage had against her, she didn’t know. But their mutual attacks soon delved into more of a duel, broken off from the main fight.

            Sweat fell on Sage’s furrowed brow as she struggled to keep up. Whoever this man was, he was strong and skilled. She had no time to look away from him, no time to wish this wasn’t happening.

            The duel was difficult, but she was surprisingly okay. Honestly, Sage was surprised she hadn’t died. But she couldn’t focus on being impressed when she was preoccupied with keeping it up.

            Someone said her name, but she couldn’t glance over to see who it was. She just kept shooting light at the man in the metal mask and black robes (all too formal for fighting in a war - she was just wearing jeans and her coat, along with various other unnotable winter clothes).

            For how quickly it started and its fast pace, the duel did not last long. Sage blocked red with a wave of blue and in the same moment sent another orange light at him which knocked him off his feet.

            Impressed, Sage watched the man fly backwards. A flush of pride fell through her at her own actions. Not only had she won, she’d been fluid, quick, and skilled. A flicker of a smile appeared on her face before she went right back to fighting the other three Death Eaters.

            “Alright, Sage?” Sirius glanced over at her, taking a split second break.

            “Yeah.” With a nod, Sage stepped closer to the two boys. James and Sirius mirrored each other with fluid motions. It was getting harder to see the other side as the Death Eaters backed up, so they all took steps forward. Only a few meters down from them was a street light, but it broke earlier that night.

            After a time, there was only one Death Eater left, fighting like hell not to lose. Most of his spells were defensive, as he scowled at the three of them and sunk into the shadows.

            Through squinted eyes, the trio tried desperately to find where he’d gone. But even as they took further steps forward and shined their wands at the only place he could’ve been, they were greeted only by emptiness.

            “Shit, he’s ran off.” Sirius lowered his wand, letting out a heavy sigh. “Fuck. He was the ringleader of this group, too. He would’ve had all the information we needed. Great.”

            Sage wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. A shiver rushed through her as she seemed to return back to her body, realizing how cold she was.

            “We should get back,” she said, eyes flickering over the empty street. Although she had just fought off evil, she couldn’t help but feel like there were monsters lurking in the darkness surrounding them. “Get out of the cold. We won’t do them any good if we’ve frozen to death.”

            With a nod, James took Sage’s hand, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles. A smile graced her lips, her thumb brushing over his fingers. Sirius yawned.

            “Let’s go, you lovebirds.” He rolled his eyes. James hit him, all three sharing smiles. Just as they vanished, a green light shot towards them. They got away just in time, and none of them noticed how close the light came to hitting Sage’s back. It kept going, right through the space where Sage had just stood.

            “You two need to tone down the romantic shit a bit for my sake.” With a roll of her eyes, Sage dragged James behind her down the creepy hallway Dumbledore still thought was necessary (no matter how many people told him it wasn’t), totally unaware of how she had been inches away from her death only seconds ago.

            “You’ll live, Padfoot.”

            “But is it _really_ living if I’m suffering the whole time?”

            “...yes? Why would it not be?”

            “Because I’m suffering!”

  
            Sage didn’t know why she was okay with sitting outside that night. She just was. The cold was bothersome and bit her exposed skin, but she paid it no mind. The sky was beautiful and she wanted to look at it without a barrier between them.

            The roof of their building wasn’t the most comfortable place to sit, but she did so anyways. It meant she was closer to the sky - something she hadn’t been for a while.

            As green eyes raked over the sky and all of its many, many stars, another joined her on the roof, taking cautious steps until he sat down beside her.

            A quick glance told Sage it was Remus, who still had some recovering to do after the full moon a few nights ago. He had his hands shoved deep in the pockets of the coat he wore Sage would’ve sworn was actually Sirius’. And the beanie on his head-- it must’ve been James’.

            They sat there in silence for a few minutes, comfortable despite their freezing surroundings. Remus was fidgety, as always, but he stared up at the sky along with her. Sage kept glancing over at him, inspecting his pale skin and all those scars he hated so much.

            He was particularly handsome then, with his chin tilted upwards as he watched the sky. Under the light of the moon, ironically enough, he seemed to have a glow about him. His scars almost vanished in the moon’s pale light, but Sage could still see each and every single one of them. From the long and dark red ones which never seemed to heal totally to the pale white ones that fell over him like the stars littered the sky.

            How was it so possible for him to seem both so young and so old at the same time? He was eighteen and soon to be a year older, but he seemed like he had been through much more than possible for someone his age. He’d seen about as much as Mr. Kippit, who was in his nineties. But his face, his hair, his whole self, sat there like a scared little boy.

            In truth, Remus grew up too fast. He lost his youth to lycanthropy. Sirius had lost his to his mother. Sage had lost hers to circumstance.

            But there they all were, grown up, and they didn’t know how to do that. How to be that.

            Here’s the thing. Trauma has a way of crawling into you, into the very depths of your being, eating away at your bones and infiltrating the deepest and darkest parts of your soul.

            When you’re young and you feel this, you have to figure out how to deal. So you act more mature, like an adult who can deal with the things you don’t know how to handle. This robs people, _so many fucking people_ , of youth. Of the bliss of being unaware.

            So being forced to grow up is nice, for a few years, when adults see you and say, ‘ _oh, you’re so mature!_ ’ and everything this brings.

            But when you’re really older? When you’ve reached the age you’ve long pretended to be? Fuck, you have no idea what to do.

            Because even though you’ve been so old for too long, it wasn’t all of you. The scared little kid never leaves. They stay there, trying their hardest not to show how scared they are.

            Being surrounded by _actual_ mature people isn’t fun because they’ve grown up, wholly and completely, and you? You’re still just that little kid pretending to be older because adults know how to handle the things you can’t.

            “Venus is supposed to be bright tonight.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Fitting, I guess.”

            There was another silence Remus put an end to.

            “Are you ready to get married tomorrow?”

            Sage let out a long, dramatic, and multi-layered sigh.

            “That sounds like an awful long answer.”

            “Yeah.” Sage looked up at the sky again. “I want to, and I’m excited, but... I keep wondering if I’m ready. I know I am, but... I dunno. It’s like I feel like I have to put things in place to make sure it all works out.”

            “You still worried you’ll end up like your parents?” Remus watched her look into her lap out of the corner of his eye.

            “I’m not--  ugh, yeah, basically. But I don’t think people really understand me when I say that. It’s not something I can just forget or put aside. And I think people are thinking I don’t want James to turn out like my dad, but they’re wrong.” She swallowed, looking over at Remus with a sad expression. “I’m scared _I’m_ going to turn out like my dad.”

            “You won’t do that, Sage.” Remus put on his best ‘concerned older brother’ voice (although he was younger than her and not related to her at all, he was concerned).

            “It’s like... I’m not _nearly_ as bad as he was, but when I get really mad, I notice all the shit he did in my own behavior. Like how he stood, how he spoke... even if I’m only a fraction as bad as he was, it’s way worse than I want to be. So much worse than James deserves.”

            “Sage.” The werewolf’s tone turned harsher, no longer sweet and comforting. He looked at her, eyes bare and serious. “I don’t know much about your dad, but I know about you. And you won’t be like that.”

            “You say that, but he was so good at making people think he was a nice guy--”

            “Sage, I don’t _think_ you’re a good person. I know you are. There’s a billion fucking things making you different from him, but the most important one is that here, right now, you’re scared of turning into him. Yeah, a lot of times we become our parents as we forget exactly what we hated about what they did. But as long as you keep that fear with you, you’ll _never_ be like him.”

            “But--”

            “Sage, I swear, shut up. This conversation is over because it’s late and you need to sleep, not debate me for four hours. You’re wrong.”

            Their eyes met and Sage huffed, looking back out at the sky. Remus drummed his long fingers on his thigh as a smirk stretched onto his face slowly and subtly.

            “So,” he said, prompting Sage’s head to turn towards him again. One glace at the look on his face made her eyes narrow. “...Davy Jones, huh?”

            Sage couldn’t even bring herself to get mad. Closing her eyes and pursing her lips to stop herself from laughing, she nodded. Fucking Sirius - she knew he would do this. Their deal made it so he could tell anyone, as long as James didn’t figure it out and he didn’t mention it in his best man speech.

            “Davy Jones.” Sage opened her eyes. The second they met Remus’, the two of them broke out into laughter. Wiping away tears, Sage asked him, “how much did he tell you?”

            “It was... something about a shrine, and then he was getting _really_ over excited. I think he mentioned an explosion, but he was talking so fast and he got so excited he had to turn into Padfoot and run around in circles for almost twenty minutes to calm down.”

            “Oh... holy shit, that’s actually, genuinely, hilarious.” Sage’s mouth hung open, curled up at the edges. If it weren’t for her shock, she would’ve been dying of laughter. She stared off into nothing for a couple seconds before she told Remus, “I was going to send Davy an enchanted letter but because I was, like, twelve at the time, my magic made the letter blow up just when I was about to attach it to an owl.”

            Remus stared at her before he held his head in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Soft snorts came from him, followed by a fragile, “you and James are perfect for each other.”

            “A sweet sentiment, Rem, but random.”

            “No,” he shoved his hands back into coat pockets, looking over at her, “because while you were doing stupid shit and obsessing over Davy, James was doing the exact same thing but with Lily. If Davy had gone to our school--”

            “Oh my fucking-- if Davy had gone to our schoo-- oh, shit, Remus, that would’ve been amazing.”

            “--you would’ve been the exact same as James with Lily.”

            “But that makes it seem like he would’ve been gay, which he isn’t. He did an interview in ‘67 where he described what he wanted from a marriage and he was totally into girls. Not as mu-- okay, I’m just making things worse for myself.”

            “Are... are you telling me you remember that? You remember that he did an interview sometime in 1967 where he said he wanted a wife?”

            “...it was in April,” Sage mumbled. Remus’ mouth hung open at her. “Hey, in my defense, it was a really sweet thing! He was talking about how he wanted someone understanding and who would have intellectual conversations with him! He was all ‘I don’t care what you look like as long as you’ve got a pretty mind’ and tiny Sage liked that, okay?!”

            “Okay,” Remus was very obviously holding back more laughter as he watched Sage attempt to save herself (she wasn’t doing a good job).

            “I’m going inside.” Sage huffed, standing up and storming off.

            As she left, Remus yelled after her, “no, Sage! Come back, tell me more! I won’t make fun, I swear!”

            She all but vanished inside, the only part of her he could see was her hand that was making a rude gesture at him.

            He snickered, standing slowly, wiping the snow off his pants, grinning to himself as he followed her inside, quite glad to be out of the frigid weather.

 


	46. Forty-Six

            James cried. Multiple times. It started in the morning when he teared up as he and Sage parted ways, with an exchange of sweet _“see you later_ ”s, accompanied by loving glances and lingering touches.

            It took him a long time to get ready. He fussed over his hair (for once, he wanted it to look nice, but _fuck_ , as always, it refused to) and came scarily close to shattering a mirror in his dressing room.

            It was as if he’d turned into an over excited toddler. At one point, he just started shifting between his human and deer forms for no reason, completely bewildering his friends (who had to admit, half-deer James running in circles and yelling was absolutely hilarious). James had no idea how Sage was handling the stress, but he was sure she was doing better than him.

            Remus came back from seeing her to tell James she was indeed stressed, and to cope, she told Sirius to turn into a dog so she could pet him and calm down. This, of course, was something much healthier than James’ panicking (but what James didn’t know was that she also hid in her closet for almost an hour so she could get a break from all the people while she ate a piece of pizza).

            “That’s where Sirius has been for the past fifteen minutes, while I’ve been in a crisis?! I needed him! So much for best man. Remus, you’re getting a promotion--”

            “James, it’s too late to change your mind abou--”

            “Okay, Peter. Promotion.”

            “I think you’re forgetting - while he isn’t comforting you, he’s comforting your fiancée.”

            James sucked his teeth, hands on his hips. “I _suppose_ that excuses him _somewhat_.”

            At least he didn’t cry when he attempted to tie his tie. To be fair, he did yell (“I FORGOT HOW TO TIE A TIE.” “James, you’ve tied ties everyday for seven years.” “MAKING ME FEEL BAD HELPS NO ONE, PETER, AND HONESTLY, FUCK YOU FOR REMINDING ME”).

            He did cry, though, when he couldn’t decide what socks to wear (the comfortable black ones or the long black ones? A decision which would haunt him for years, surely). Soft tears fell from his eyes as his shoulders shook with whiney sobs his friends rolled their eyes at.

            James was, to say the least, stressed. It was his wedding day and he was almost certain he’d die from worry before he even _saw_ his fiancée.

            There were about five million things he was thinking about at once, most of them about Sage. What was she doing right then? Was she as freaked out as he was? Was she thinking about him? How pretty did she look? He was certain the answer to the last question would be nothing short of “like an angel who crawled right out of his sweetest and brightest dreams.”

 

            James never put too much thought into what Aphrodite looked like. In his mind, she was just a floating cloud of smoke that looked awful similar to that which rose from Amortentia, which was fitting. But the second he looked at Sage, one of his best friends, as she walked towards him in a flowy white dress all covered in lace, he could put a face to the name of the goddess of beauty. Sage was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

            The weight of exactly what was happening in the moment swept over him like a tsunami wave. Fuck, he was going to marry her. Right there and right then.

            Tragedy struck as James realized in order to wipe away all the tears in his eyes, he had to take off his glasses. But without his glasses, he couldn’t see her. But through the tears, she was getting blurry.

            Fuck.

            Faster than he ever thought he could, James ripped his glasses off his face and shoved his fingers into his eyes, freeing them from his salty cry water. He snapped his glasses back onto his face (VERY narrowly avoiding hitting his eye) and watched her walk the rest of the way, sniffling as subtly as possible.

 

            They wrote their own vows. James cried as he delivered his and he cried while she said hers. How the hell he had gotten to this point, he didn’t know, but he wouldn't have done anything differently. Even one change could’ve led to him not being right there, with her. He couldn’t even imagine.

            Bless younger James for finally actually talking to Sage. That day when he watched her punch Lucinda right in the fucking face? He’d fallen in love. Like a cartoon, his heart beat out of his chest dramatically.

            Sage’s fist broke not only Lucinda’s nose, but the invisible barrier which had been keeping James from saying anything to her. He could shake his head at his past self, then. How silly he had been, getting so unbelievably flustered whenever Sage so much as breathed in his direction (though, he couldn’t blame his younger self. She was really pretty).

            So James got up from his spot under that tree with his friends, messed up his hair, gotten out the snitch he thought made him such hot shit, and went over to her.

            And that’s where their story began - this one you’re reading right now. (I hope you like it. I worked awful hard so you would.)

  
            From his spot behind James, Sirius was rolling his eyes at every single cheesy thing either one of them said. And they said a _ton_ of cheesy shit.

            Yeah, he was being a snarky asshole. But it was either be a snarky asshole or start tearing up again, which he knew would ruin the aesthetic he had going on that day. So he was as snarky as possible, to himself, in his head, and thought to himself asshole-ish comments.

            It was funny. He was funny. Being funny stopped him from thinking how sweet all the shit they were saying was. And that stopped him from crying (barely).

            _Yeah, Sage, ‘nobody’ saw your proposal coming. I guess my name is ‘Nobody’ now. Fucking hell, she was so obvious. All those comments about how she ‘wanted to but didn’t want to’? I’ve never met anyone who wanted to marry James more than she did. Except for me, maybe. Those tax benefits? Sweet._

            Ha ha. Funny.

            _Fuck, he just had to say that, didn’t he? Ah, shit. Fuck. Yeah, James, we knew all about how much you were obsessed with her. After you loaned her your sweater, you asked us every five minutes if we thought she was wearing it. Or smelling it. You creep._

_Shit, that’s actually really sweet. So yeah, their first kiss was romantic as hell, but there was no need to describe it like you’re fucking Shakespeare, James. You dick. You didn’t even mention she was a hot girl. You’re just talking about the fucking emotions-- FUCK. NO TEARS._

  
            Of _course_ , Sage was beautiful. Incredibly beautiful. Stunning, really. But Remus, staring at her with soft eyes, couldn’t help but think of Sage when she wasn’t in her wedding dress, instead seeing her in old jeans and band t-shirts or sweaters that weren’t really hers.

            Like when she had serious conversations with him, or just when they hung out together perhaps when they were doing things that happened to be against most rules (including the law).

            Or like the previous night, or the many good times they had while still at school (like when she listened so intently to his guitar playing like it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard - she’d never know how happy that made him), all those times when she was more real. More authentic, more herself.

            And he preferred that Sage. The Sage who laughed at his stupid jokes and the Sage who loved terrible books just as much as he did. The Sage who yelled at him that one time in an attempt to make him feel better (and it worked, somehow).

            But as much as he preferred the version of Sage he saw when they just hung out, he had to admit, the smile she was wearing was so much better than anything he’d seen on her before. And he wished she always wore it, really.

            Perhaps, just for how happy she was and how happy she was making James, Remus could change his views.

  
            Wendy alternated between crying and laughing all day long as she watched her best friend get ready to marry (married! What absolute madness!).

            On one hand, Sage and James were a beautiful couple. The sweetest she’d ever seen, really. They were so obviously in love. Wendy had no doubt the two of them would support each other for the rest of their lives.

            She could already see them, in their old age, sitting by a fire. Sage’d come in from working on her garden and join James on their old couch that held about as memories as they did. Perhaps a grandchild ran over and sat on their laps. Maybe they’d tell a story about something grand and exciting that made the kid look forward to growing up.

            Wendy cried - how romantic. How perfect. How desperately she wanted this to happen. How strongly she longed for James and Sage to have a happy ending.

            On the _other_ hand, _Sage_ was getting married. _Married_! As in, she’d given up on her obsession with Davy Jones and was finally moving onto another person (and that person wasn’t Susan Dey, who tiny Sage had fallen in love with after Davy - so much for her ‘total and utter devotion’ - one second after seeing Susan, Sage forgot all about Davy’s existence).

            The idea of _Sage_ doing something so adult and mature wasn’t _shocking_ , but... Wendy was still having trouble wrapping her mind around the idea that the same girl who once chased a cat through the castle and ended up falling down two different flights of stairs just because ‘ _its eyes were pretty_ ’ was getting married. As in, an eternal bond between people.

            And, to be fair, Wendy only knew James from an outsider’s perspective for a while. But _holy shit_.

            James Potter, the same boy who lit fireworks in the library, nearly burning down the whole castle because it was “too long” since he had last caused any explosions (he’d blown up half the Dungeons two days prior), was _marrying someone_.

            And, even stranger, that someone wasn’t Lily Evans (though, Wendy always had a feeling this would never happen. As a trans lesbian, she had a pretty good sense of seeking out fellow queer people. Hell, look at Sage! She hadn’t even known she was bi until they’d already been friends for multiple years, and Wendy left open some Muggle magazines and forgot all about David Jones because she’d ‘fallen in love with Susan Dey’).

            Wendy settled on crying.

  
            Peter didn’t know what being in love was like. He didn’t expect he ever would. But there, in the moment, he got a glimpse of it.

            It took his whole body, his entire self, and filled it up with tingling warmth and emotion that made him feel... different. He knew it wouldn’t last, and he was okay with it going, but the idea that when it left, it wouldn’t return, bothered him.

            Like a friend or sibling you don’t live with but see occasionally - parting ways is fine, because you know you’re destined to meet again. But when that meeting is to say goodbye, you don’t want to let go.

            But Peter wasn’t the one in love. He loved James and he loved Sage, but he wasn’t _in love_ with either of them. He wasn’t _in love_ with anyone. And he didn’t think he ever would be, really.

            But he put that to the side. This was James and Sage’s day, and he was just whining. Really.

            So he thought about James. He started with remembering James obsessing over Sage at age fifteen (“ _did you see her hair? I think she cut it. Maybe she just put it up a bit - I dunno, but she looks amazing.” “James. Shut up. It’s three in the fucking morning, and I’m within range to throw my entire fucking trunk at you_ ”).

            But then he remembered James in other situations. Flashes of various memories: James Potter, age 11, telling Peter they _really_ were friends. James Potter, age 12, coming up with genius plans to fuck with the teachers. James Potter, age 13, as he discovered Remus’ secret and, without hesitation, decided to do something about it. James Potter, age 14, diving into the Black Lake to impress Lily Evans (the idiot thought he could ride the Giant Squid. Spoiler - he couldn’t. But, luckily, the Giant Squid was only mildly inconvenienced by James and just put him back on shore).

            James Potter, age 15, shoving his wand in someone’s face because they had the nerve to say something bad about one of his friends. James Potter, age 16, looking at the newspaper with a certain fury in his eyes as he began to understand how terrible the war was getting. James Potter, age 17, comforting a first-year who cried out of fear for their safety when some asshole had told them ‘their kind’ would ‘be next’.

            James Potter, age 18, getting married.

            It wasn’t a memory, not yet, but it was starting to become one. Peter could feel the images - the way Sage held herself differently when James took her hand - the sounds - the soft sniffles from people who felt all the emotion coming from the words the couple spoke to each other - everything. It was all coming together and shuffling off to a corner of his mind, some of it falling out on the way there (he wouldn’t have to remember the way his tongue still tasted of the cereal he had that morning).

  
            It was known to August for a long time that Sage was likely to get married. Even with how many times she told him “I’ll get married when you do” (knowing _full well_ he was never going to marry anyone), he’d always had a lingering suspicion. Part of this was based on the fact that Sage was around fifteen when she decided this, and had absolutely no idea of what her future would entail.

            But he’d always accepted her, saying “you can do whatever you want as long as you’re doing the right thing.” This was his way of ‘guiding her’ (In reality? He didn’t know how to parent an angsty teen. That advice was vague enough to work with most things and was pretty solid. Except for those times when Sage would say “ _I thought I was doing the right thing_!” when she’d done something _very much the wrong thing to do_ ).

            August wasn’t the best at raising anyone, but he’d done a good job. Really. He was lucky enough to have her already be old enough to do things on her own when he had to take full custody.

            He’d raised her, somewhat, before then. Simple things, really. Like walking her home from a friend’s house she’d stayed at a tad too late (he didn’t like her walking home alone once it had reached twilight, even if her friend’s house was right around the corner) or praising the artwork she’d made (many times it was just pasta stuck to paper with glitter on top, but she got so proud of it, he just had to compliment the choices of glitter colour and pasta type - macaroni paired with yellow? Exquisite taste. She was a real savant).

            When their mother worked late days, August would fix Sage dinners and read her stupid stories from those kiddie books she loved but he hated. Maybe he’d even let her play with his old broom (that was her absolute _favourite_ thing to do, ever, hands down, since the second she set eyes on the old, twiggy broomstick when she was only six years old). She’d go to bed easier for him than for their mother.

            August wished he got to spend more time with her when she was really young. He had been mostly preoccupied with school and being ‘too cool’ for his kid sister to spend real time enjoying watching her get so excited over really simple stuff and run straight into danger, not even knowing why she shouldn’t.

            But there she was - nineteen and all grown up and wearing a white dress and being all... mature. She looked like a woman, as strange as it was.

            August held in his own sniffles throughout the day - when he saw her, when he gave her away, when she gave her vows and when James gave his, and when they were finally married.

            She was a Potter. Though, she’d always be his sister.

            A thought flashed through his mind as everyone stood for the newlyweds - _what if they start having kids?_ He almost had a heart attack.

  
            It was all a blur, really. A happy, light-hearted, emotional, wondrous blur, but a blur nonetheless.

            For Sage, everything blended together just like ink on a paper when she wrote too quickly that it didn’t have time to dry, because she was too preoccupied with writing it all down so she would remember forever.

            Like when she went to Hogwarts the first time, she wrote quickly and happily so she could go back to the exact moment she lay her eyes on the castle. But the writing was messy, because she didn’t want to forget to write a single detail, as they came to her mind, she tried to write as fast as her mind moved.

            She wanted to write down every second of that day. Every thought, every touch, every look, every sound, every scent, every single one of the thousands of pure, profound emotions that hung around them in the air and created the ghost of a barrier over them all so they couldn’t be touched by the things happening outside. War raged on, but they were secure in their bubble of joy.

            Of what she could make out of the blur, there was one main thing which prevailed - two loving, familiar, heartbreakingly powerful hazel eyes looking right at her as if she were the only thing in existence. She understood the look in those hazel eyes, as she had the exact same in her own as she stared back.

            Her picture was taken so many times that she got tired of the flashing of cameras. But there was one, last picture she didn’t mind - where she stood with James and the Marauders and Wendy and felt so happy she cried right after the flash went off.

 

            Sirius Black’s best man speech had no less than 35 deer puns scattered throughout (Sage and James knew they were in for _something_ when he had stood and began, “deerly behooved”). It was miraculous. He spoke about the couple, sure, but often, he... strayed off topic.

            For example, he spent time talking about the death of Sid Vicious (guitarist for the Sex Pistols) only a few days ago, and although he didn’t _technically_ mention David Jones, there were... things thrown in (“let us hope that the marriage doesn’t end with one of them dying at sea. We wouldn’t want good old Davy Jones to ruin this pure, sweet love by taking Sage away from James. Hell, he could take James. We don’t know.” Sage had almost murdered Sirius after, but he just told her, “I didn’t _once_ mention _David_ Jones, Sage. I am an innocent.”)

            But, overall, Sirius’ speech was sweet and sentimental (James cried again), ending when the groom rushed up to him and gave him a spine-shattering hug. Sirius barked out a laugh, hugging his brother back and hiding his teary eyes in his shoulder.

  
            It all ended, though, as the firework of a day fizzled out into an awkward night. There was nothing in particular to make it awkward other than the feeling of having a moment end and the feeling of being out of place. Sage felt strange standing in their flat in her wedding dress - like she’d been cut out of a wedding picture and pasted into one of some random home-decorating magazine.

            But then James took her hand and led her to their bedroom, and she felt better. So much better. A bride with her groom in a random flat was still strange, but less so.

            His fingers moved to the back of her dress, slowly untying and loosening that which held her in. He kissed her bare back softly and she turned around, caressing his face with her hands.

            There was still the ghost of a smile dancing atop his lips, but it was fading into a soft line. His tie had long come undone, previously giving him the image of a party animal, but then seeming more like he had just returned home from a long day. Like he had stopped at a bar on his way home from work and was just glad to be back, happy to see those he loved. He stared at her with hazel eyes that still held the same amount of love as they had all day, but had gotten gentler. He had loved so aggressively, so sharply, so _furiously_ that day. All of that faded away.

            Inside of his eyes was a love in a dark room, the only light that of humming neon signs. Inside of his eyes was the shivers and warming tingles from lips kissing a lover’s back while they stand over a stove on a sweet September morning. Inside of his eyes was the closing of a favourite book, read for the thousandth time just for the familiarity but that had revealed something yet unseen, something new to love.

            Even when all that kept them apart was the atoms making up their separate skins, they were not close enough. Chest to chest was not close enough. In order to be really, truly authentic, they had to mould together on a molecular level - enough to get their hearts to touch. It had already happened, really. Their hearts were stuck together. But that didn’t keep them from trying their hardest to make it literal.


	47. Forty-Seven

            Albus Dumbledore was many things, not the least of which was a genius. That much was obvious. Through his strangely-chosen words and eccentric ideals, he was a genius. Scholarly looks through half-moon glasses as he described things that hadn’t even occurred to other people showed it. And he did this often.

            The whole Order knew it was virtually impossible for Death Eaters to cast the Patronus charm. ‘Minions of Darkness’ simply did not have the capability to do something calling upon magic so light, as only the pure of heart could cast the charm without being devoured by maggots (not to mention the fact that they often worked alongside the very creatures that the charm was made to stop).

            But the Patronus charm was nothing but protection.

            Until Dumbledore came up with an idea - he had been looking for a new method of communication. Sending owls took too long and sending people was too much of a hassle. Sending Patronuses over long distances to share messages was something nobody would’ve considered but him.

            A silvery buzzard flew through the room, flying above in dramatic circles before perching on a chair to repeat a message, successfully demonstrating exactly what Albus had just invented. August called off his Patronus, hand falling to his side, fingers loosely gripping the worn wooden handle of his wand.

            Sage’s initial reaction of “how the fuck am I supposed to do _that_ ” soon dissipated as she watched her brother. Never before had she seen his Patronus. A giddiness and curiosity lived in her chest as her wonder filled eyes watched the bird that represented his innermost self.

            He was a buzzard! Through the regret of not knowing anything about the bird (she hadn’t even known what bird it was exactly until Remus told her), Sage was thrilled. Knowing what animal someone’s corporeal Patronus turned into was gave a certain insight into their personality. Even with those who she knew every detail about, she could learn more from their Patronus.

            Just after August finished his explanation, Wendy burst into the meeting room, head bowed as she stared at the enormous pile of papers in her arms. She hurried over to the table, loose pants swishing together softly as her legs moved.

            Papers were plopped onto the table, spread out by Wendy in a manner that seemed random but was, in all actuality, quite methodical. Wendy’s leg slid a chair to the left, creating a gap where she could stand right up against the edge of the wooden table.

            A bag Sage hadn’t even noticed had its strap against Wendy’s chest, digging into her shirt and creating divots in the regularly flowy fabric. Sage could only imagine how much the strap dug into her shoulder.

            With a heave and a _‘clunk_ ’, the leather satchel was on the table next to the papers. Wendy hadn’t looked up from her work, eyes zipping through text on the top piece of parchment as she unfastened the bag, its flap falling back and it sitting open.

            Ignoring the chair next to her leg, Wendy stared over papers for another second before digging her arm into the bag. Her hand entered, followed by her wrist, her elbow, until all of her arm was inside, her shoulder touching the lip of the bag.

            Tongue between her teeth, Wendy put on a look of frustrated determination and seemed to reach out further. Surely, inside of the bag, her fingers were just grazing over what she needed. Her whole body started to shift so she could reach in further, leg coming out and spare arm balancing her, palm against the table.

            A sigh and a smile told Sage she’d finally gotten ahold of what she needed. Her leg fell back onto the ground, arm starting to retract from the bag. Her spare hand left the table, delving into the bag to join and assist its partner as she finally got what she wanted.

            After a couple yanks to get the item through the bag’s too-small opening, Wendy had a prideful aura, pushing the bag to the side quickly and replacing it with the book. Although she put it down softly, the book was massive and made a sound that wasn’t _really_ loud, but was _too_ loud.

            The book, which was twice the size of Sage’s head, had a brown leather cover that seemed to tell its own story. Sun-faded spots and circles which could only mean it had once been used to hold a cup or mug - Sage could picture the book being in an excited scholar’s ‘personal library’ (really just a living room). They made a cup of something hot and found there was no room on any table to set it down (why - they were all covered in books!), finally letting it rest on the book Wendy had then. Perhaps they’d set it down by a window, where the sun had shone through onto it.

            Too far away to make out its full title, Sage only got a glimpse of words that lead her to believe the book covered some kind of magical law. It was understandable, of course, as Wendy had been working with the Ministry.

            Wendy turned her head to her right, grabbing the chair she had pushed aside to sit on its edge as she threw open the book, flipping right to a page towards the middle she hadn’t bookmarked but had found quickly. Her finger traced words from the book as she flipped between reading from her papers and from the book.

            Sage had to look away when a shining silver blob appeared in the corner of her eye. As the talking started to fade, Patronuses began to fill the area around them. A dog ran past her leg, sliding through the air with its tongue hanging out of its mouth happily. Fluttering butterfly wings gently passed by, inches away from her nose.

            Giggles escaped James as he let a rabbit hop around his feet, playfully jumping through the air. His wand was in his hand, but he had yet to cast the charm, too distracted by all his surroundings.

            His eyes flickered up as the rabbit hopped elsewhere. An eagle flew by, majestic and beautiful, belonging to Diana (he wondered why she wasn’t in Ravenclaw with a Patronus like that). As it passed, he met eyes with Sage, who seemed just as enamoured with their surroundings as he was.

            James rose an eyebrow, looking down at his wand and back at her, silently asking her to cast the spell as he did. She didn’t bother nodding and let her hand rise, fingers gently wrapped around her wand.

            As he mirrored her, she began to think - happy memory... which to choose? It was hard to tell what would work and what would not. Her eyes glazed over as she thought for a second.

            It took her about a second to decide, then she met James’ eyes and cast the spell at the same time he did.

            Silver shot from her wand. Sage watched for her familiar badger, but it did not appear. No, the animal stood in front of her was different. Her whole body seemed to shutter and freeze as she recognized exactly what it was.

            There, in front of her, standing majestically (far more majestic than her badger - oh, she missed him already - had ever been) was the exact same creature standing in front of James.

            Her stag, taller than she was, turned to stare at her with its silvery eyes in the exact same manner she stared at it. It was if even the Patronus was surprised - mirroring Sage exactly, as if _it_ expected to be a badger, too.

            In her befuddled state, Sage vaguely remembered reading about Patronuses. Something about them changing - ‘ _from extreme shifts in an individual’s life or such - total emotional upheaval. Trauma can cause a Patronus change, as a negative shift. On the opposite end of the scale is the shift caused by falling in eternal, unchanging love, as often brought about my marriage.’_

            James’ mouth hung open. His own Patronus stared at Sage’s, both their eyes widened comically. She wasn’t a badger anymore - he could still remember the day when he first saw her Patronus, the little badger who scuttled around the room curiously. But... this was not that badger.

            It was a stag, just like his. Similar markings and builds, but very different antlers (both wide and tall and beautiful, but differently shapen).

            Beside him, Sirius beamed. He opened his mouth to say something, but a hit from Remus on his chest shut him up. Sage stared at her deer, along with James and his own deer. Sage’s deer didn’t seem to like being stared at. It looked away from Sage at James and his deer before trotting off, head held high as if it knew eyes still followed it.

            Sage was completely and utterly flabbergasted. As her stag walked off importantly but casually, James’ seemed to snap out of its daze, rushing off to follow as it wandered aimlessly.

            Head following the deer, Sage looked over at James to see if he was as awestricken as her. He stared at the deer in the same manner she had, his eyes flickering over to meet Sage.

            He gave her a look which screamed ‘ _explain!’_ but she had nothing to tell him, and could only give him the exact same look right back.

            Sirius ignored Remus’ warning daggers sent through glances, and opened his mouth again, crossing his arms smugly.

            “ _So_ ,” he said, holding back chuckles. The married couple’s heads turned to watch him. Behind Sage, the deer had stopped trotting and were just standing around, nuzzling each other (it was really quite adorable but neither Sage nor James noticed - Peter was the only person who did, and it brought a smile to his face). “I guess you could sa--”

            “Fuck, you’re going to make a shitty pun, aren’t you?” Remus groaned, stepping closer to Sirius. “This is such a sweet moment.”

            Sirius rolled his eyes. “ _ANYWAY_ ,” he said, looking right at Sage with a grin. “You’re a regular Prongsette.”

            Sage squinted at the boy, head tilting to the side. “That’s not funny enough for you to be as smug as you are right now.”

            His face fell instantly, offense overtaking him. “Okay, rude.”

            “I mean, it’s clever, and I can totally see you all calling me ‘Prongsette’ from now on, but... it wasn’t _that_ funny.” Sage took a step forward, more so wanting to be closer to James than to Sirius.

            Sirius was about to speak again when she shook her head as if he was water droplets she could shake off her forehead, and cut him off before he could start. “Anyways,” she said, as if she had just remembered where she was. “That’s not the important thing here?”

            “Yeah!” James said, stepping up to her. He wanted to say “the important thing is--” but what would he say next? “You love me”? He knew that already. It was hard to know what to say, really, as this wasn’t really a thing he had a reference for.

            Sage didn’t know what to say, either. To her, there were no words. She couldn’t tell him exactly what she was feeling, because she didn’t know. So she just looked at him, eyes trailing over his messy hair (that _still_ stood up in the back, even though it was long enough to reach his jaw) and his sharp jawline, to his soft lips and his bulky glasses (which would, though they didn’t know it then, be described as ‘a 70s dad thing’ - glasses with big, square lenses surrounded by skinny frames. He, honestly - and this might be hard to believe - looked fucking amazing in them. They complimented his facial structure, his eyebrows looked nice with them, and they made him seem more mature than he really was) laying over his hazel eyes surrounded by thick, black eyelashes.

            The kiss was sweet and told him far more than her lips could otherwise. Words didn’t quite work at the moment, so she just stuck her mouth on his. James’ hands made their way onto her hips, pulling her closer, until they pulled away just enough for Sage to whisper, “ _I’m still a badger-- don’t get that wrong._ ”

            “ _I don’t think I ever could forget,_ ” he whispered back, his lips brushing against hers.

            “Okay, so that’s nice and all, but am I the _only goddamn person_ here who has never produced a Patronus?!” Wendy had looked away from her book and papers long enough to get a cup of tea. When she came back, she had asked Remus why the there were ‘a bunch of ghost-y animals’ in the room.

            “Have you ever tried, Wendy?” Remus spoke with a soft voice, different from the annoyed tone she had.

            “No. I’ve never had the need to,” she shrugged, taking a sip of her tea. “In school, I was too busy trying to learn what I was supposed to - not to mention it’s such a difficult spell.”

            “Do you want to learn? I can teach you - now that we’re using Patronuses to communicate, you’ve got a reason.” Remus stuck his wand into his pocket. Sage detached herself from James, whispering loving things to him before walking over to join the conversation. Her Patronus faded away, soon followed by James’.

            “You should try, Wen. It can’t hurt.”

            “Sage, you know how bad I am at spells. It’ll take me forever to learn, and I’m so busy with working my way up in the Ministry so I can finally talk to Barty Crouch without him scoffing at me the second he sees me.” Wendy sounded particularly bitter, taking another sip with a scowl on her lips. The idea of such a sour Wendy was foreign to Sage; it reminded her vaguely of an apple getting bruised and going bad after being thrown about for a long time. Sage felt every word Wendy laced with bitterness slip off her tongue and stab her insides.

            “You can try. Take a little time from your regular schedule, learn something new. It’ll protect you, and we all know how much we need extra protection nowadays.” Sage watched Wendy breathe in slowly, her eyes closing as she considered this. When they opened again, they had gotten a bit of their usual light back (it seemed, to Sage, Wendy really needed a day off).

            Wendy let out a sigh, looking up at Sage. “ _Alright_ ,” she said, turning to Remus. “You really don’t mind?”

            “No, not at all.” The werewolf smiled, “think of it as an… educational hangout.”

            Wendy laughed at that, her eyes crinkling up as a much more fitting noise escaped her. Remus grinned, turning to Sage with the look in his eyes that made her remember just how smart he was.

            “Alright.” Sage nodded, a smile gracing her own face. She looked back at James, who was talking to Lily, before adding, “you two better report back to me when she’s gotten corporeal. I need to know what animal she is. I don’t know what the hell they all mean, but... it’s fucking fascinating.”

            Mid-sip, Wendy snorted. “I’m probably going to be a... I dunno, something lame. A fish. Not even a cool fish. Like… a tuna.”

            “Wendy, I can assure you, you’re _not_ going to be a tuna. You’ll be something sweet and kind and beautiful and... I dunno, but it’ll be wonderful.”

            “Sage, you flatter me. If it’s a tuna, you owe me... I dunno. Let me name your firstborn child. I mean, obviously, I’ll have a say in it anyways, but if I’m a tuna... well, the world better get ready to meet ‘Lourtio Hooligan Potter III’.”

            “How can he be the third if there’s nobody named that in the first place? And, like, _why_ would I be okay with you naming my child Lourito?”

            “Sage, the all-powerful tuna is known for naming kids good names, so... chill, yeah?”

            “...why am I friends with you?”

            “Okay, I heard baby names and are you telling me you aren’t naming your child ‘Elvendork’?”

            “Sirius, why the _absolute fuck_ would I-- you know what? You’re all seeming to forget that this child does not exist.”

“Okay, anyways, as the all-powerful naming tuna, I declare the name of Sage’s firstborn to be ‘Elvendork Lourito Wendy Potter IV’.”

            “How did we go up one? I thought it was the third--”

            “No, Wendy, we should call it ‘Elvendork Lourito Wendy James Potter V’.”

            “The fifth?! Where the hell are the other four Elvendorks?!”

            “Sage, you’re ruining the fun. I have to agree with Sirius, adding my name is a good idea. Keeps it classy and traditional.”

            “James, I swear, when we have kids, you and all of these assholes will not have a say in what its named, so help me god.”

            “Why don’t you name it after something really noble--”

            “Okay, August, rude--”

            “--like... I dunno, my owl?”

            “WE ALL SEEM TO FORGET THIS CHILD DOES NOT EXIST!”

            “...anyway, I’m on board with Elvendork--”

            “REMUS, I SWEAR TO MERLIN.”


	48. Forty-Eight

            With dirty dishes thrown in the sink, James shifted his body to get a look out the kitchen window. White puffs fell from the sky rapidly, frost drawn on the window’s glass. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection, his own hazel eyes watching as he sighed.

            “Still snowing,” he shouted to Sage who could surely see the weather for herself from the living room. Socked feet took a step back as he broke his gaze away from the window, grabbing the tea on the counter. Slender fingers wrapped around the cup of hot liquid with steam rising from it in barely-there clouds.

            “Do you think it’s a blizzard this time? It looks bad enough.” As Sage watched her husband enter the living room, her fingers moved to turn another page in a book she’d already finished. James shrugged, sipping his tea carefully.

            Sage wiggled her toes to get some warmth back into them, creating a movement under the colourful knitted blanket she had over her legs. Her socks rubbed against the yellow, bumps protruding and wiggling back and forth. The feeling of something missing overtook her suddenly. It only took a second for her to realize - when she had been at Hogwarts, at times like these, some cat would curl up on her legs. But there was no cat, sadly. Eh, she’d be fine without. Even if that orange part of the blanket would be the perfect spot for a cat to stretch out.

            “I don’t know.” James pulled back the blanket covering Sage just enough to plop down beside her, before laying it back over his own legs. His cup rested on his lap and his head leaned on her shoulder, allowing his eyes to read over words from her book.

            With a sweet hum, Sage’s right hand moved to brush his. As the backs of her fingers grazed his, they immediately curled off the warm cup and wrapped around hers. She squeezed gently and his eyes fluttered shut.

            Warmth radiated off of each of them as they huddled closer. Sage’s book closed, placed on the side table gently before she moved to cuddle him better. She inhaled deeply, nose grazing his cheek. A yawn escaped her and she let her eyes close.

            The rapid tapping of a beak on glass startled them both awake. Sage sprung up, rushing to the window, leaving James to yawn and sip the tea he’d only gotten a taste of. It was cold, just like the air that blew into the room when the window flew open.

            Hurrying to shut out the bitter cold, Sage sputtered as snowflakes hit her face rapidly. With a slam of the window (that wasn’t really necessary), Sage huffed and began to feel around her hair, tiny white specks sitting in it.

            Her nose was red, face wet from melting snow, and she was grumpy. Who on earth would’ve sent an owl in such weather? The poor thing must be _dying_. Mail could wait, surely. If it was really urgent, they could’ve just shown up themselves!

            But the owl seemed fine. In fact, it was grooming its wing from its spot on the coffee table, seeming more bored than bothered. Sage watched it with unsettled surprise. He didn’t have any white specks stuck in his black feathers.

            James leaned forward, putting his cold tea on the table and narrowing his eyes to see what the bird had delivered. On its leg, tied with a bit of string, was a rolled-up piece of parchment. James gave the end of the bow a little tug, making the string coming loose and the paper beginning to unroll.

            Folded up, it had his name on it, in all-too familiar handwriting. “It’s from my parents,” he told Sage, unfolding it. Sage crouched close to the owl, petting it as James began to read.

            His face told her a story as he read - from a smile, he took on raised eyebrows that quickly furrowed, his lips curving down into neutrality. Without looking up from the letter, seemingly reading it again, he told Sage, “they say they want to see us today, even though--” his eyes flickered up to her. “I’ll just read it.

            “‘We know we have lunch scheduled in a few days, but we’ve recently gotten news we want to tell you. Don’t worry yourselves, but we would appreciate if you came over today. We’ll be home all day.’ Then there’s my father’s signature,” James mumbled, “and something about the owl being covered in a potion he just invented so it’s immune to weather.”

            Sage forced herself not to think too much about what kind of potion could do something like that, and instead looked up at James and asked, “what do you think the news is?”

            A sigh escaped him as he folded the note in half, setting it on the table in front of the owl who seemed quite upset Sage had stopped petting it. He slipped off his glasses in a move that reminded Sage of Mr. Kippit, her 93 year-old boss. It was such an honest, tired thing to do, but it better suited someone much older than her husband - someone who had lived through much more and seen things that tired the soul.

            “Should we head there now?” she asked, watching him rub his eyes, his shoulders tensed. He took his fingers off his eyes, putting on his glasses again.

            “Yeah,” he said. Thoughts floated around inside his head, above him like snitches. He’d get ahold of one, but it would simply fly away again. He kept catching an unsettling idea - that something was wrong. No matter how many times he tried to let this thought go, it wouldn’t leave him. The snitch was stuck to his hand.

            The couple left in a hurry after letting the owl out the window again, apparating away while Sage was still trying to get her second glove on. James’ tea sat on the table, cold and full.

            Snow and biting wind blew around them with a certain fury. James wrapped one arm around Sage, keeping her at his side, his other arm out in an attempt to see through the white mass surrounding them. Sage held down her scarf with one hand, shivering although they had only been out for a few seconds. Her other hand gripped onto James, not really doing anything but making her feel a bit better.

            It took them multiple minutes to get to the door from their spot only a few feet away. The snow reached their knees, making it a whole ordeal to take a single step. Sage, with her shorter legs, took a few seconds more (as occasionally the snow reached her thigh) to walk. While he waited for her, James regretted leaving their flat. Yeah, maybe it was cold there, but it was better than what felt all too much like Antarctica during a snowstorm (at least, it was what James imagined Antarctic snowstorms were like. He’d never been. Wasn’t really up to visiting, really).

            A heavy knock on the door alerted the Potters to their visitors and made them rush to the door. James had Sage in his arms, his body angled in an attempt to shield her from the wind swirling around them.

            The door opened, and James gave his father a weak smile before he was yanked into the foyer, door slamming behind them.

            A mound of snow had made its way into the house. Pressed up against the door and unable to fall inside, the snow quickly fell in a landslide onto the wood floor the second it could. Snow fell from the piles on Sage and James, having built up on their shoulders and heads.

            “Why on earth did you two not just apparate inside?!” said Fleamont, locking the door. Neither of them responded, heads down as they focused on taking off snow-covered clothes. Sage shook her scarf, prompting a flurry of snowflakes to escape from it.

            “Sorry, dad, we ju-- are you feeling alright?” James grin fell when he finally looked up at his father.

            Fleamont didn’t seem... right. There wasn’t much of his skin visible, only that at the end of his long sleeves and above his high collar, but what they could see was strangely green. He had a couple bumps on his face, like pimples that hadn’t gotten red - just raised skin.

            Sage’s heart fell. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was wrong. This was their news, and she already knew.

            James had known something was wrong. A feeling deep in himself like he already knew. His parents were old. No matter how much he ignored that, it was a fact. They had him at a late age, and gotten even older. But he seemed to have convinced himself they wouldn’t... they were immortal in his mind, as unrealistic and untrue as he knew it was.

            “Your mother and I wanted to tell you in person,” said Fleamont, seeming shyer than he did normally. “We went to the doctor today, they’ve said we’ve got good chances, but…”

            James nodded, eyes staring at the ground blankly. Cotton filled his ears and suddenly his father sounded miles away. There was some kind of buzzing in his chest, like he had swallowed a bumblebee.

            “Modern medicine’s come a long way.” Sage tried desperately to find the right thing to say, but she knew the odds. Dragon Pox might have cures, but it still had a scarily high mortality for people later in life.

            James closed his eyes, licking his lips and taking in a slow breath. Hazel showed once more, looking up at his father’s glossy eyes.

            “Your mother’s in the drawing room.” Fleamont reached out to his son, arm wrapping around James’ shoulders protectively as he led them through a hallway.

            Her nail tasted gross, but Sage found herself repeating a habit she thought she got over when she was fifteen. As her teeth nibbled her thumbnail, Sage was hyperaware of her surroundings - the wallpaper, the wood floor, the paintings of beautiful scenery and portraits of people who shared features with James... One man had his nose and ears. A woman had his eye shape, but not the colour. Another man had the exact same smile as him - their lips curled up in identical forms. Sage hadn’t noticed any of this before, even though she’d been down the hallway many times.

            There was the slightest bit of dust on the tops of the frames. James’ head leant on his father’s shoulder, arms limp at his sides. His fingers kept moving, curling slightly and going straight again, the veins on his hands protruding more than usual.

            Sage trailed behind them awkwardly, taking the tip of her thumb out from between her teeth and wiping it on her jeans as they entered the drawing room. Euphemia was staring out a window with her back to them, the stark white of aggressively falling snow a bitter contrast to the brown walls of the room and her dark hair.

            “Phemia?” Fleamont rubbed his son’s arm comfortingly, bringing them closer to his wife.

            Euphemia didn’t look much better than her husband. On her face, purple swirled into green skin. Sage closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want this to be happening. She didn’t want James to lose his parents. She didn’t want them to be sick.

            She’d have to be strong. If not for herself, for James. Later, they would cry together. For now, she needed to pay close attention and soak in every word they said. One look at James told her he wasn’t really there in the moment, so she’d have to be his eyes and his ears and his memory for then.

            The look on Euphemia’s face when she saw her son was one exclusive to mothers. The soft eyes, the smile which held just enough sadness to bring sympathy and comfort while also imbuing hope. The look of a mother seeing their child so heartbreakingly sad, and trying to keep it together for them. Acknowledge the bad parts but remind of the good.

            “Jamie, sweetie,” Euphemia opened her arms wide. James broke away from his father and embraced her, hunched over with bowed head. Stepping closer, Sage stood beside Fleamont and swallowed the lump in her throat.

            As Euphemia rubbed her son’s back, Sage blinked slowly, arms held close to herself. A reassuring hand fell onto her shoulder. Fleamont met Sage’s eyes, giving her a comforting semi-smile.

            Sage almost sobbed. Her lower lip began to tremble and her teeth had to bite onto the flesh to stop it.

            He wasn’t a fool. He could see it all - the way she held herself, like she was trying to give herself a hug. Gloss coated her eyes as tears began to form, and no matter how hard she bit her lip, it still trembled.

            His arms opened, welcoming her. A hesitation fell over her, strong enough to almost make her take a step back. But there was a shift inside of her, sudden and drastic.

            Fleamont had strong, fatherly arms, forming a protective barrier around Sage. She closed her eyes and felt a bit like there was a bear embracing her. He was musky, a certain smell she could only describe as ‘ _dad_ ’ although she really didn’t know what ‘dad’ smelled like.

            When they had finally parted, James and his mother were sat on the yellow couch to their right. Sage was even more teary-eyed as emotions overtook her. He hadn’t helped her get rid of her emotion, but reassured her it was okay to have them. For that, she was grateful.

            The seat next to the couch wasn’t very comfortable, but Sage sat there anyways. Parents on either side of him, James swallowed again as Euphemia spoke.

            “James,” she said, gentle. James had her hands in his, squeezing softly. “I know it’ll be hard, but... as long as you keep those happy memories in your mind, things won’t be as bad. It’s hard to remember happy things when things are so sad, but I know you can do it. Do you have a happy memory, for us, right now? It won’t fix things, but... focus on the good.”

            Her hand detached from his to wipe tears off his cheeks. A sniff came from him, followed by, “um. Do... do you remember that one time, where dad got that car?” Smiles appeared on three different faces as he continued.

            “And he--” a sniff, “he tried to bring us to get ice cream from somewhere, but he ran into that column. He ruined the car and shattered the column. We had to run away because of the Muggles who wanted his ID.”

            “I do.” Euphemia gave a shaky chuckle. On James’ other side, Fleamont let out a laugh loud enough to hit Sage in a warm wave. A smile wormed onto Sage’s face as she pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands and dabbed at her eyes.

            “Your father,” Euphemia pointed to her husband accusingly, “was so certain he’d be able to work that machine. ‘It can’t be that hard, Phemia,’ he said. And the second he got into the thing, he got it into his head that he knew what he was doing.”

            She took a second for dramatic effect, making intense eye contact with Sage before saying, “he didn’t.”

            And Sage’s heart was lifted. Humor danced in Euphemia’s eyes, light surrounded by the heavy emotion drowning the rest of her.

 

            Telling Sirius was one of the worst and hardest things Sage had ever had to do. When they apparated into (INTO. They’d already made that mistake once that day) his flat, he was laying on his loveseat with music blasting and cigarette smoke hanging in the air.

 

            His legs almost totally hung off the too-small loveseat. Why he was laying on it, Sage didn’t know. Loveseats stopped being comfortable around age seventeen. After that, they were strictly for sitting. God forbid you try to _sleep_ on one of those monstrosities after you’re seventeen. The _worst_.

            The cigarette creating the smoke was held in his fingers loosely, still lit though it was almost out. It hovered close to the floor, as his arm also hung off the loveseat.

            His eyes were, presumably, closed. The arm stuck on the not-couch was bent so it covered all of the top half of his face, as if he were napping. Of the visible half of his face, his lips were open slightly, a model-esque pout that made his whole aura of ‘a work of art’ stronger.

            Music hung in the air, mingling with the smoke, lyrics about abandoning the past flowing through the room. Heavy bass and aggressive drums reached into chests and shook ribcages. Sage was sure there was a silencing charm around the flat, otherwise Sirius would be getting many-a-complaint.

            James took a step forward, ready to alert him to their presence. His hand twitched, uncertain.

            Before James could try to touch Sirius, the boy’s arm moved off of his face, lying across his chest. His eyes were wide open, flickering from the ceiling over at James and Sage behind him.

            He brought the cigarette up to his lips, inhaling deeply. The red tip glowed brighter right before it was shoved into an ashtray on the table beside the loveseat. Sirius twisted the cigarette out, leaving it smoking on the ashtray as he sat up, feet falling onto the ground. His left hand grabbed at his wand, waving it slightly to turn the music from a boom to a hum.

            Hands between his legs, Sirius looked at James tiredly. “I’m so bored,” he said, fingers rubbing his eye. Eyes clearer, he sat straighter.

            “What’s wrong?” Sirius said. It was more of an order than a question. A heavy breath came from James and Sirius gulped. He knew, by the look on James’ face, the faint bits of red under his eyes, his posture that made him seem much shorter than he really was, that something was horribly wrong.

            Sage started nibbling on her thumb’s nail again, despite it being too short to really chew.

            The second James said, in a shaky voice, “it’s mum and dad,” Sirius stood.

            “They’re not…” he trailed off, a sarcastic smile dancing across his face in his unbelief.

            Sage watched his expression change as James told him. A breathy and dark chuckle escaped him as if he so desperately wished James was making a cruel joke. Soft breaths were cut off by a quiet, “ _no_.”

            James hugged Sirius suddenly and tightly. His arms constricted around his brother like a corset, taking the air out of the dog. Both their eyes squeezed shut as they took in shaking breaths. Fists grabbed at shirts, holding onto the other person so they wouldn’t float away.

            Thumb beginning to hurt, Sage closed her own eyes and inhaled slowly, lungs filling with secondhand smoke and not enough oxygen. The song changed, a slower but more aggressive drum beating around them.

            The world went on, James realized. Although his had stopped suddenly, the rest of humanity and nature continued. Snow still fell from the sky too quickly. The other people in their building went through their days as they had been. War still plagued the wizarding community.

            He had just enough energy to walk into their bedroom and fall onto the bed. Sage watched him while rushing to take off her outerwear to join him. Her scarf was flung onto the couch, coat falling onto the floor, boots falling on their sides vaguely near where they were meant to be. Her gloves were together on the coffee table, right next to the unmoved, cold cup of tea James hadn’t gotten to drink.

 

            Remus’ birthday party was okay. But when the conversations fell into a lull, or when the music changed, or when Sage got up to get another drink, James’ mind was given the chance to wander off. He’d blink, but the backs of his eyelids were stamped with the image of his parents, skin dark green and purple, red bumps coating them, lying in sheets of stark white.

            Modern medicine might’ve come far, but it wasn’t doing anything. He knew it was close. The doctors spoke with soft voices dripping with false hope, but when his parents squeezed his hand weakly, still smiling at him, and all of it - he knew.

            Was it too horrible that he hated going to see them? But what was the alternative? Either he suffered through watching his parents look like they were already shaking the grim reaper’s hand or he wasn’t there to spend time with them the last time he would be able to.

            When Remus told him he didn’t have to come, James could only scoff. His smirk didn’t meet his eyes as he told him, “ _who do you think I am, Moony?_ ”

            When he was distracted, James had a good time. He’d sip at his drink as he contributed to the conversation. He’d laugh at Sirius’ jokes. He’d play games of exploding snap with Peter. But he didn’t talk as much as he used to. Sirius told jokes half-heartedly. He lost more than usual.

            Don’t get it wrong - he did have a good time. Fuck, he had a great time. Spending time goofing off with his friends was his favourite thing to do. But a cloud flew behind him the whole time, thundering quietly, reminding him of what was happening at St. Mungo's. They’d gotten bad enough that the doctors thought it best they were kept around nurses at all times, just in case.

            Remus’ 19th birthday was on March 10th. Euphemia and Fleamont Potter died a day later.

 


	49. Forty-Nine

            James had no right to be mad, but he still was. As if he didn’t have enough emotions going through him. As he stared at pictures of his parents and was told by so many people so many things they thought would comfort him, he flew above his body. He hung in the sky, sitting there and watching himself cry.

            Remus _couldn’t_ be there. It was a simple fact. The full moon was that night and he had been feeling it all week - it was going to be bad. And he’d even tried to get out of bed to go, but he’d collapsed when his legs gave out the second he tried to stand on them.

            He had swung his feet off the side of his bed, taking in breaths as he used his nightstand to stabilize himself. He stood cautiously, blinking slowly. His hand came off of his nightstand and he stood for a second, eyes unseeing and cloudy, the only thing he saw was black spots which wormed through his eyes and mind. He fell onto the floor in an ungraceful manner, a thud sounding as his legs gave out. He hadn’t moved for a second, staying on the floor like his mind had left him. He hadn’t seemed to recognize that he was on the ground until James had put him back in bed.

            And he apologized. Too many times, really.

            But James was still mad. An outlet for his emotions, possibly, to be mad at someone who wasn’t there. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry at his parents.

            Their funeral wasn’t long. But with all the people who came to speak to him, it felt eternal. Sage would answer things for him most of the time, doing the talking for him. He didn’t know what it was like for her, being there. She didn’t let go of his hand the whole time and he didn’t know if that was for his sake or hers.

            She gave him tissues and sweet cheek-kisses all throughout the day. He didn’t really thank her. He didn’t really talk, other than the occasional thanks when someone he didn’t know said something along the lines of “ _they were so proud of you, both of you. Such a lovely couple. Euphemia talked about you all the time, James._ ”

            People don’t know what to say during funerals. That’s not their own fault. They say what they think brings comfort, what they think they’d want to hear. But the only thing James wanted to hear was “it was all a mistake! Your parents are alive and well and are standing right behind you!”

            Perhaps he was being rude. All those people were trying to be a source of comfort, and he wasn’t letting himself feel better. Maybe he shouldn’t be so picky and just take what he could get.

            Then again, it wasn’t as if anyone was judging him. They were all too busy thinking about themselves - and that wasn’t a bad thing. Olly Pitta came up to James just because he didn’t want to be rude, the only person who didn’t say anything. Alexandra Jones said things about his father while she thought about what she would make for dinner that night.

 

            “To my real parents.” Sirius raised his bottle, its bent cap falling onto the stone floor. The four others mirrored him, eyes raking over him. He loosened his tie right before he opened his bottle, and his undone hair fell onto his shoulders neatly.

             It was a strange time for a toast. Sirius had procured a case of butterbeer out of nowhere, dragging James (and, by extension, Sage, who had still not let go of his hand) off to drink it immediately once the funeral ended. Peter and Wendy joined them, the extra company welcomed.

            They were in a mausoleum. It was old, with beautiful stained glass windows at the end of halls of names with people housed behind them. The floor was cold and hard, but none of them cared, sitting anyways.

            Perhaps it was sacrilegious or disrespectful of the five of them. But something gave them all the idea that the people who surrounded them didn’t really mind. The youngest of the people had died in 1578. Most likely, all those spirits were long, long gone.

            “My real parents,” Sirius repeated, “who took me in when I most needed it and taught me what actual parental love was.” He swallowed, finally saying what needed to be said. But it wasn’t right to do so in front of all those people. This was for the Potters and for himself.

            “And no matter how many times they told me I could call them ‘mum and dad’, I couldn’t. I never got to tell them it wasn’t because I didn’t see them as those figures - I did, but I couldn’t call them the same things I used to call my old family. Euphemia wasn’t the same as my mother. They couldn’t be more different.” His arm started to sag. “Fleamont was an angel, but he was not my father. Orion died earlier this year and I didn’t care. But now…”

            He closed his eyes and chuckled. A sad, exhausted chuckle that made him seem many years older. In that moment, he was the man at the end of a bar with a beer in his hands who didn’t say anything unless prompted, upon which he told the saddest and most beautiful stories ever spoken. Raw and honest, heartbreaking and horrifying on a deep, spiritual level.

            “Now I just want to be able to call them my parents without thinking about Walburga and him. I want to think of the word ‘mother’ and not see a bright red light. I want to see Euphemia bringing me soup when I got sick.”

            This was a moment he created. The air was coated in Sirius - the smell of leather and cigarettes and butterscotch. He wasn’t a poet, but he spoke as if he was. What he had to say wasn’t written to be beautiful. It was just reality in its simplest form, honest and sharp. When the truth is undiluted, it is already poetic.

            He didn’t say much more. Blunt words fell from his mouth and sat in front of them all, in the middle of the circle they sat in.

            Silence was greeted by his bottle raising high into the air again before meeting his lips. Peter stared at the case of butterbeers and sipped his own slowly. Wendy sniffed, sleeve wet as she took a drink, eyeing Sirius as he gulped his down.

            Sage took a tiny sip before holding the bottle in her lap, eyes slowly shifting around as her lips tingled and she rubbed the thumb on the hand still holding James’ over his knuckles. Her feet ached from the heels she hadn’t worn in months, hair falling out of the braids she’d done like a crown.

            James took a swig, the liquid in his bottle sloshing around. He brought his knees to his chest, finally taking his hand away from Sage’s to wrap his arms around his legs, bottle sitting next to his feet. His chin rested on his knee and he focused on the stained glass window nearest them (a knight of some sort was in the process of getting stabbed in the chest. A cloaked figure held the sword dramatically, thrusting it into the knight. Behind the one knight was another, different knight, holding their own sword at their side, as if they were about to attack the cloaked figure, but the sword in their hands was broken, a jagged blade ending too soon - it seemed to have shattered at some point. It could do nothing. Why this scene was immortalized in stained glass, James didn’t know).

            The full moon was approaching. Soon, James and Sirius and Peter would get Remus and lug him out to transform. It was going to be bad, they already knew. James didn’t want to go that night. He had an excuse, and a valid one at that.

            It was tempting - the idea of staying home and letting himself mourn. He’d just lay around and sleep. He was so tired.

            But he had to go. It was going to be really bad; they’d need him there. He didn’t want to imagine how things would go if he wasn’t there during such a strong moon.

            Pulling himself up by his bootstraps, James kissed his wife goodbye and apparated to meet the boys, all of whom seemed surprised to see him there. He brushed them off, determined.

            “Alright. We’ve got this,” he said, looking at Remus. The boy looked horrid; sunken eyes sat on bags more suitcases than a clutch. He was devoid of all colour, his face white, scars sitting more obviously on his skin with the contrast.

            “I sure hope so,” said Sirius, letting out a sigh. His hand gripped Remus’ shoulder protectively. It was a simple gesture, but paired with Sirius’ straight spine and hardened jaw, it brought the ghost of a smile to Remus’ lips.

 

            Despite not remembering when she fell asleep that last night, Sage awoke to gentle rays of sun falling onto her face. Eyes still shut, she flopped over to reach out for James, arm worming under the covers to his side of the bed. She didn’t feel anything, just empty bed.

            Her eyes opened, hands rubbing them quickly as she sat up, keeping the covers up to her chin. The room, as it had been through all of that iconic winter, surrounded her in cold (she was really getting tired of it. It was creating a slow, dripping resentment for the flat inside of her).

            “James?” Sage’s voice croaked, calling out into the flat. The door was open, which either meant he was in another room or that she’d forgotten to close it the previous night.

            There was no response. Mind reminding her of what the last night was, Sage felt worry drop into her. _He probably just couldn’t sleep. He’s on the couch, messing with that old snitch he stole - I still can’t believe he did that, we looked for the thing everywhere - sipping at tea. He got home last night. I can’t remember falling asleep, so I probably just forgot him getting back._

            Nevertheless, Sage called his name again as she pulled off the covers, a shiver running through her at the chill of the air. Fuzzy socks hit the floor softly, sleeves pulled down to cover hands.

            “James?” she tried a third time, stepping through the doorway slowly. Still, the only response was the emptiness of the flat.

            Her heart had a clenched hand holding onto it as she sped up and checked rooms, finding them all empty. Mind racing, Sage tried not to imagine the worst. She came up with more excuses - _‘he fell asleep at Remus’ after’_ \- none of which were likely the truth.

            The chair she imagined him on was vacant and the hand squeezed tighter. Shaking hands dug into her hair as she stood in the hallway. She didn’t know what to do. Wait? Go to Remus’? To Sirius’? Where the fuck was he? Why had she never had them tell her where they went?

            _Shit shit shit shit--_ Sage’s mind raced. She began to pace back and forth, path random and erratic, panic seizing ahold of her. In its quickened state, her brain asked her the one question she didn’t want to imagine. _What if he’s dead?_

            No. She would know. If he was dead, she’d feel it. She’d have known the second life left him. He was alive. She needed to put that irrational thought to the side, think critically.

            Pacing the hallway and worrying herself to death wasn’t going to do anything for her. Sage forced herself to stop, standing still as she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Tea. That’s what she needed.

            Steaming tea in her hands, Sage sat on the couch that could see the doorway and waited. She tried not to just stare at the front door, knowing he might not come in through it, but couldn’t help it.

            The tea cooled, but Sage didn’t notice. It just sat in her hands, warm and ignored. At some point, she brought up her legs onto the couch and crossed them under her.

            Liquid came extremely close to spilling all over the floor when Sage sprung up off the couch after hearing a familiar ‘crack’ from the kitchen.

            Slipping as her fuzzy socks refused to gain tension on the wooden floor, Sage slid into the kitchen clumsily. He was right there, his back to her. His black hair, familiarly messy, gave him away. He was home.

            Sage got ahold of herself, steadying herself on her feet and reaching out to touch him. Just before her fingers reached him, he turned around. He saw her and immediately stepped closer.

            She hadn’t even realized she was crying until his hand wiped away her tears while a shaking breath rattled through her.

            “Sage, I’m so sorry,” he said, looking her deep in her eyes. She hiccupped, noticing the cut just above his eye running through his eyebrow.

            “I-I thought--” Sage’s hands sat at her sides loosely, tears flowing down her cheeks. James watched her, stomach feeling weighed and like steel.

            Sweet, soothing words came from him, his hands rubbing up her arms. Sage fell into his chest, hands coming up to grab at his shirt gently. Her eyes squeezed shut and opened again, the last of her tears escaping her as she calmed. He was home. He was there, and he was okay.

            But he wasn’t, not fully. She noticed in the cut on his eyebrow, and the way he moved his arm - like he was wearing constricting clothes. But while his one arm did as little as possible, the other made up for it by touching her gently, brushing her hair back and caressing her face.

            It didn’t take long for Sage to glance at his upper arm and back into his eyes. Voice stern, she said, “take off your shirt.”

            “Wow, Sage. Want to buy me a drink first?” he chuckled, but Sage just swallowed and stared at him. His smile fell and he gave her a guilty look before he said, “it was bad.”

            She looked at him with hollow eyes, “I guessed. Take off your shirt.”

            James shifted his weight, glancing up at the ceiling. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, but he still didn’t want to show her. It was wrapped, thanks to Sirius, and healed so it was only a few millimeters deep. When it happened, James almost thought he lost his arm. There were tiny divots on his bone where Remus’ claws had scratched him.

            He was still looking at the ceiling when he reached down to unbutton the flannel shirt he’d borrowed from Remus. Sage watched him intently, helping him pull off his sleeve when he struggled.

            The white bandage was stained red from the blood seeping through. Sage’s shoulders fell and her eyes closed for a second before she sprung into action.

            She sat James at the kitchen table and rushed off to gather things, remembering all the things Dorcas had taught her. Sage wasn’t a Healer like her, but after brewing a few potions for Dorcas and spending time around her, she’d learned a few things.

            While Sage pulled a chair close to James for herself, she let her fingers unwrap the bandage slowly, untying the knot Sirius had done to keep it in place. White stained red fell away, revealing the deep cuts, surrounded by red.

            As Sage blotted away some of the blood, she noticed how deep the cuts went. At the first sight of yellow, she asked, “what happened?” her fingers continued to work as James sighed.

            “It was my fault. I mean, obviously. I shouldn’t’ve gone. I was tired and distracted and I fucked up. He almost bit me.”

            Sage’s hands paused and she looked up at him, “he almost bit you?”

            “Yeah,” said James, voice breathy. “He got so upset when he saw me after he woke up. That’s why I was so late. He used up energy he didn’t have to yell at me.”

            Sage didn’t say anything, clicking her tongue and going back to work. James watched her for a few seconds, letting out a breath as he remembered.

            “I’ve never seen him so angry.” James shook his head softly, speaking mostly to himself. “He’s never been so mad at anyone before, let alone me.”

            Remus had, in his weakened state, shot swords at James with a single glance. His words, carefully chosen, hurt more than his claws. He was as strong as the rising sun, his wit the first thing to return after his emotion.

            “He told me not to come back.”

            Sage froze, looking at James worriedly.

            “Fuck, I said that wrong. I-- he told me a whole bunch of stuff about how we ‘never should’ve done this’ and how we used to be kids and were idiots but now we aren’t as much so. And then he told us, me and Peter and Sirius, he didn’t want us coming along anymore.”

            “That’s not going to happen,” said Sage, wrapping up James’ arm again.

            “Yeah, I told him that. But he just looked at me and he said, ‘you won’t come along if you don’t know where I am.’” James stared off into the distance, remembering the icy look in Remus’ eyes. He said it like a threat that would, without a doubt, come true.

            “Shit.” Sage leaned back in her chair, looking at James with a furrowed brow. “What’re you going to do?”

            “Well, for now, I think I’m just going to let him rest. He’ll probably be feeling less... stubborn after he recovers.” James rubbed his eyes under his glasses, “after that, I don’t know.”

            “That’s because you need to sleep, too, lovely.” Sage took his good arm’s hand, guiding him into standing and putting his shirt back on before she dragged him into their room.

            It was like his body remembered how tired he was only after seeing his bed. The second he stepped into the room, his eyes began to close and body to droop. Sage struggled to hold him up (he seemed to have already fallen half-asleep) as she pulled back the sheets, letting him fall onto the bed.

            Sage pulled off his shoes as he let out soft snores, debating for a second before taking off his jeans as well, tucking him into bed and kissing his forehead before leaving the room, closing the door behind her. A soft ‘click’ sounded just before she let go of the door handle, walking into the living room.

            She sat on the couch, pulling a knitted blanket over herself, and thought. Her brows furrowed and her eyes unfocused as she let herself wander around her mind, trying to figure out what to do.

            The chances that Remus would wake up and change his mind were slim. The only thing that would be different would be the emotion he had, how irritable he was. But he’d decided, unless something else changed his mind again.

            His cleverness would ensure they really didn’t find him. He’d vanish for a night and they wouldn’t know how things went until they saw him later on. He’d get thousands more scars, as he’d start clawing at himself without mercy again.

            Fuck, Sage wished wolfsbane was something they could use. Sage was so excited when she heard about it, but when she went to Remus, he gave her a sad smile and told her there wasn’t hope.

            “ _It’s incredibly difficult and terribly expensive. I can’t brew it - I’ve got no hope of doing so, I’m not nearly good enough at potions, and there’s no way I’ll be able to afford it. It was a nice thought, but I... I have to do without,”_ he said.

            Sage was willing to give up all her time and energy to learning how to make it. Fuck her job, fuck the Order, fuck her social life. She’d stay home, slave over a cauldron for hours on end.

            But it really was expensive. She’d taken one look at the ingredients and cried. She couldn’t afford that. She’d be spending a month and a half’s worth of money once a month.

            Sage felt a familiar tickle in her stomach. It was a blue flame, full of hopelessness and bitterness. Like she’d swallowed a sour candy. It was the feeling that overtook the body when someone stared death in the eyes as he took their hand. The feeling of being lost in a forest as the sun went down, darkness taking over.

            With a bitter chuckle, Sage snapped out of her thoughtful daze, saying to herself, “wow, I wish I could fucking afford shit.”

            _Wait._ Sage’s mind worked it out - James’ parents were rich. He inherited their money. She was married to him. _She had money_.

            Sage sat up, like a deer in the headlights, stiffly staring straight ahead. _She had money. She had money!_ She could do it, really! She could learn how to make wolfsbane, suffer through the whole learning process, and make it once a month.

            She had to contain herself, remembering James was asleep and that she should probably consult with him about such a big expense. She had no doubt he’d be okay with it, but... she should wait. Calm down.

            But it wouldn’t kill him if she went down to Diagon Alley and got a book with the recipe in it. And it wouldn’t bother him if she went through her old stuff and figured out what she’d need (her school cauldron was probably both too small and not high-enough quality). She could do this.

 

            Their flat didn’t have a place for Sage to brew complex potions. She couldn’t do it in the kitchen, out of danger of potions ingredients being mistaken for food. The living room just... wouldn’t work, and there wasn’t room in the bathroom and the bedroom.

            James was on board, 100%, just as she knew he would be. Remus was still in recovery, and Sage had gone through with almost all the preparations despite him not knowing yet what she was planning. He hadn’t really spoken to anyone about future full moons, at least not when Sage went to Dumbledore.

            He had an office, if you could call it that, at the Order headquarters. It was more of an oversized broom closet with bright blue walls and two brown plush chairs squeezed in it. There was a window, but it wasn’t very big, and the only view was that of the brick wall of the building next to theirs.

            It had strange pictures on the walls. Sage stared at a painting of the night sky with twinkling stars and swirling background as she asked him for help.

            The spare room he offered her was dark and poorly ventilated, but Sage didn’t care. It was reminiscent of the dungeons of Hogwarts, with grey walls and cold air. Nobody ever went in there, either, as they had no reason to.

            Sage lugged her new cauldron onto the wooden floor, putting all her other things onto the table already inside the room. A couple spells later, it was more well-lit and had somewhere for the smoke from the potion to go, so it wouldn’t just hang in the air and possibly kill Sage.

 

            On a chilly Sunday morning, Sage kissed her husband goodbye, thanking him for the lovely breakfast (he’d figured out how to make crepes, and she was eternally grateful) while grabbing her bag. Though she struggled to lift it at first, she managed to get it to hang off her shoulder before she apparated away.

            The Order was calm, for once. Besides the few people working together at the great table, it was empty. Sage waved to the three people who made eye contact with her. Her bag dug into her shoulder as she rushed into the spare room.

            The bag hit the table with a dull thud. Sage let out a breath, turning to look at the empty cauldron and stare into its black abyss. It was like the sky on a moonless night, like someone had stolen the stars right out of the sky. Perhaps they were made into rings and necklaces to show pure devotion and adoration.

            Shaking her head, Sage put up her hair into a messy bun which held it away from her face. She turned around and reached into her bag to pull out the gigantic book with the recipe she needed.

            With another thud, she placed the book onto the table and threw it open. The new-book smell hit her like a sudden memory, sparking a deep breath to come from her. On the book, written in black ink, was the incredibly complex potion she would be making.

            She’d read it about thirty times already. The first couple steps were easy, but once the aconite (also known as wolfsbane) was introduced, things got… hard. It wasn’t enough that aconite was poisonous, it also had to be handled an exact way to work properly and _not be poisonous_.

            Letting out a heavy breath, Sage started preparing the first of the ingredients. She took special care to cut the unicorn horn, measured out the moondew exactly, and crushed the snake fangs carefully.

            Just as she reached into a bag full of valerian root, she paused and her head turned towards the door. There was something going on outside. She didn’t know what, but there was certainly a commotion.

            _Something must’ve happened,_ thought Sage, torso turning toward the door as she heard frantic footsteps rush by. Straining her ears, she listened to the muffled sounds of loud voices and thuds.

            Her hand left the bag, the other hand dropped her knife, and she took a step back from the table, making her way towards the door. She turned the doorknob slowly and pulled, instantly making the noise louder and clearer.

            They weren’t yelling, but it was clear that something happened. Leaning out of the doorway, Sage glanced down the hall at the door to the meeting room. It didn’t seem like an argument, just the chaos caused by a sudden attack.

            Another door in the hallway opened, releasing Dorcas Meadows who rushed down the hall toward the meeting room. She must’ve been the person whose footsteps Sage had just heard.

            “Has something happened?” asked Sage as Dorcas approached. The healer slowed, catching her breath and nodding.

            “An explosion. Muggle mineshaft, giant fireball.” Sage’s eyes widened as Dorcas continued. “Some of us were fighting the Death Eaters down there, it was this whole thing. Now we’re dealing with a whole bunch of different things and it’s... chaos.”

            “Holy shit,” said Sage, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind her. “What are we talking here? Is the Ministry helping? There’s got to be some Obliviating going on, right? Are they coming up with a story for the explosion?”       

            “Woah, Sage, I don’t know. I’m just helping heal.” Dorcas started walking again, Sage by her side. “Wendy’s working her ass off, telling everyone what to do and planning stuff. She’s the one to ask.”

            Sage nodded, although Dorcas focused on opening the door to the meeting room and didn’t see.

            A chatter hung over the room as people rushed about. A small crowd of people were surrounding Wendy as she stood next to the table, papers strewed in front of her. She glanced at the man to her right as he asked her something and said something back that made him rush off.

            She looked around the room and her eyes met Sage’s, sending a pleading look at her best friend. Sage and Dorcas parted ways, and the former rushed to her best friend while the latter headed off to heal those who had been in the fight.

            “What’s going on?” asked Sage, once she’d gotten to Wendy, who was no longer surrounded by a thin ring of people.

            “There’s been an underground explosion. A fireball flew 183 meters down a tunnel and we already know of two dead Muggles. I don’t know why we were fighting Death Eaters in a Muggle mine or whatever, but we were and shit’s fucked.” Wendy spoke lighting fast, Sage could only nod as she glanced around the room at the bustling people.

            “Anything I can do?” Sage asked, Wendy letting out a breath as she shifted her weight between legs, placing a hand on the table and leaning on it as she turned to Sage.

            “Help me? Everyone’s going to fight or to do damage control or to deliver my messages to the Ministry but I’m doing a fuckton of stuff right now and I think I’ve sent too many people to go track down people and too little to--”

            “Greene, what’s the story we’ve got right now?” Alastor Moody cut Wendy off. His magic eye glanced over Sage as if he was dissecting her. No matter how many times he did that, it still freaked her out.

            “Right now?” Wendy stood up straight, hands intertwining atop her head as she let out a breath. “We’re saying a buildup of methane gas is why it got so big, but…” she squeezed her eyes, thinking hard. “I don’t think there’s a source of the flame yet. Say we’re investigating. That makes sense, we wouldn’t know what caused the fire right away…”

            Moody nodded, turning and rushing off. Wendy opened her eyes and looked at Sage, “I’m struggling. Help.”

            “Okay. I’m here,” said Sage, smiling reassuringly. Wendy let out a sigh of relief and the girls got to work.

            “It was lucky we noticed it. We only had time to hit the ground and cast a protection spell before it got to us. It was practically already on us. We all would’ve died, but Remus saw the orange out of the corner of his eye.” Edgar Bones recounted to Sage who listened intently, sitting up when she heard her friend’s name. Edgar had been fighting the Death Eaters down in the tunnel, but Sage didn’t know Remus had been there as well. She hadn’t heard from him since the full moon.

            “Wait, Remus was there?” Sage asked, Edgar nodding.

            “He was. Seemed tired, but he fought well. Not sure why the one…” Edgar continued but Sage was no longer listening.

            Where was he? Was he still there? She was sitting in the tea room, so he could’ve been somewhere else at headquarters.

            Her head swivelled around and she bit her lip. It wouldn’t be too rude to leave the conversation, would it? She couldn’t pay attention now, she was only thinking about Remus.

            “Oh, I’m sorry, Edgar,” said Sage, cutting him off (he had started talking about his grandmother’s specialty vanilla bean cake and Sage had no idea how he’d gotten there). He blinked. “I’ve just remembered-- I told Wendy I’d see her after I’d gotten tea. I apologize, but I really must be going…”

            Sage stood, fighting the plush chair that seemed to try to eat her, gulping down the rest of her tea. She waved once to Edgar before rushing out of the room, wiping off the dribble of liquid escaping down her chin.

            A confused determination overtook her as she rushed through the Order, trying to figure out where he might be. As she thought, she opened the door to the meeting room, which was mostly empty after the chaos had calmed.

            Wendy was gone, possibly at the Ministry, and Moody was making his way through the room, with two people sitting at the table, talking, and three boys she knew all too well speaking in hushed, angry voices against a wall.

            Sage made her way to the boys, listening to them argue.

            “You can’t just _leave._ ” Sirius hissed, voice low. Sage wormed between him and her husband. All three of them faced Remus. He still seemed tired, but mostly looked recovered. In the moment, he was sucking his teeth and giving Sirius _looks_.

            “You’ll get yourself killed,” said James, jaw tensed. Sage put a hand on his back, her brows furrowed.

            “Better than if I kill one of you.”

            Sage’s fist clenched and she made a move to punch him, her hand flying towards his face. Beside her, Sirius grabbed her wrist, teeth clenched and eyebrows tilted down. The only thing stopping him from hitting Remus was the fact that his hands were too busy stopping Sage.

            James’ mouth hung open as Sirius let out a growl. James quickly moved on from shock to anger, jabbing his finger in Moony’s chest.

            “Don’t you _ever_ say _anything_ like that _ever_ again, do you hear me?” James snarled, a mix between angry mother and feral wolf. Remus swallowed, eyes empty.

            “You three can’t come with me anymore,” he said, staring his friends down. Sage wasn’t as brave as him. He was faced against two lions and was telling them to fuck off. Not literally, obviously, but in her eyes, he had just about as much of a chance of walking out of that conversation as he did this one.

            “I’ve made up my mind.” Remus’ voice was hard, cold and calculating. “This isn’t a debate. This has gone on for too long and it should’ve ended before it began.”

            “ _Remus John Lupin, I swear to Merlin_ \--” James began as Sage spoke.

            “ _You idiot--_ ”

            “ _How dare you even think--_ ” Sirius seemed to be holding himself back from lunging at Remus, while his grip on Sage’s wrist tightened. She didn’t notice.

            The three of them spoke at the same time, getting too loud, arguing their own points over each other.

            James finished with a huff, upset his scolding hadn’t really been heard. Sirius stopped when he got too mad to form words, settling for making growls and groans and clenching his fists (he’d let go of Sage’s wrist, thankfully).

            Sage scowled at Remus before saying, “you won’t need them anymore but I’m still mad at you.”

            Remus, for the first time in that conversation, seemed affected by something they’d said. His brow furrowed, head tilting slightly. “What?” He glanced at her with shifty eyes. Beside her, Sirius was equally as confused.

            “Give me your hand.” Sage spoke harshly, holding out her open hand to him. When he made no move to give her his hand, she shook hers aggressively and glared at him until he slowly put his hand in hers.

            The two others followed as Sage pulled Remus through the meeting room, throwing open a hallway door and storming through the hall. Remus, befuddled, stumbled after her, long legs moving quickly as he tried to keep up.

            Sirius was just about to ask James where the fuck they were going when Sage took a sharp turn to the left and opened the door he knew led only to a spare room. But what was inside the room was not what he remembered - a cauldron sat on the floor, large and shiny, and a table pressed against the two walls behind it with just enough room for a stool which gave access to both the table and the cauldron.

            Remus, cradling the hand Sage had finally released, stared at the room in confusion. He glanced at Sage, who took a hand off her hip to gesture to the room, silently telling him to look around with a glare. This was partially because she knew he could figure out what was going on and partially because she was too frustrated with his self hatred to tell him regularly.

            So he took a step to the right and made his way to the table, where a gigantic book was thrown open with various potions ingredients surrounding it. Slipping past the stool, he stared down at the book with furrowed brows that softened the second he realized. Sage was making wolfsbane. For him.

            He looked back at her, unbelieving. She and James were already supporting him, as he was unemployable due to his status as a werewolf, and now... this. Hands still on her hips, Sage watched him take the three steps to get to her. His eyes, cloudy, shut tight as he threw his arms around her.

            “...what’s going on?” asked Sirius, confused, as he watched Remus pull away from Sage and look at her with teary eyes.

            “I’m making him wolfsbane,” said Sage, looking away from Remus at Sirius and back, staring Remus deep in his eyes. “I’m making you wolfsbane.”

            As Remus squeezed her again, she added, “I’m still mad at you, arsehole.”

            “I don’t care,” said Remus, elated. He kissed her forehead, “I love you, Sage, holy shit.”

            “Alright,” James pulled Remus off his wife, glaring at the boy. “We need to talk.”

            He said this like he was about to break up with Remus. It was a harsh and cold command, and Sage was _so glad_ it wasn’t directed at her.

            “There’s clearly some... _unvoiced opinions_ we need to get out into the open, wolfsbane or not.” James turned his head to Sirius, “close the door.”

            The click of the door closing echoed around the room like it was summoning Remus’ death. James looked at Remus with seemingly empty eyes. He was silent for a second, leaving the air tense and thick. Sage suddenly wished she was on the other side of the door.

            Heat radiated from James as he closed his eyes and took in a breath. Painted on the back of his eyelids, he watched himself run down a hillside with his friends at his sides. He was young, maybe thirteen, and he had a grin the size of the sun, eyes full of the feeling of being untouchable.

            He opened his eyes to the sight of his brother, older and wiser, with more scars and a deeper side of him, with eyes full of hatred he saved only for himself. He wasn’t the same boy anymore, but James could see it - the way he wrung his hands, just like he had when he feared a prank might go bad, the way he held himself, like he was scared his height might intimidate people or make him stick out, the way he looked at James like he was his saving grace.

            “Was it all a mistake?” James spoke finally, without realizing. The words slipped out of his mouth without his permission and hit Remus right in the chest. Moony staggered back as James added, louder but still eerily soft and heart-wrenchingly serious, “our friendship? Our brotherhood? Do you regret all of it?”

            “James,” said Remus, suddenly much less brave. His voice shook slightly, “of course I don’t-- that’s the whole reason I let you all come along with me.”

            He laughed in a self-deprecating way, “I wanted friends so badly that I was blinded by my desire for our friendship to continue. Having you all care about me so much made me overlook how dangerous it was because I didn’t want it to end. We were having a good time so the danger didn’t matter.

            “But now, now you’ve got a wife - your dream girl and the best woman I’ve ever known - and I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come home to her.” Remus spoke quickly, his eyes closing as he finished. James’ gaze flickered over to Sirius, who swallowed and tilted his head up, thumbs grabbing onto his belt loops as he leaned against the door.

            “You’re wrong.” Sirius kicked off the wall, stepping closer. Remus’ eyes opened and met Sirius’. Sirius always described his eyes as ‘stormy grey and irresistibly beautiful’. In that moment, the storm left his irises and filled the room, surrounding the two of them until they were just two souls swimming in stormclouds.

            “You’ve never ‘let us’ do anything.” Sirius’ voice was monotone and harsh. Brutal honesty was different from hostility, but it felt the same in a way. Before, he’d been a snake, whose bite injected venom into a bloodstream. Then, he was a poisonous apple Remus had sunk his teeth into.

            “We did it all because it was the right thing to do.” He stood straight, suddenly taller than Remus, and towered over him. He had no humor in his tone, as his lips moved to form words without any hint of a smile. “Do you really think that us being there and in danger is worse than you alone? Screaming in pain on that cold floor with nobody to comfort you? Nobody to stop you from mutilating yourself? Nobody to throw a blanket over you when you untransform? You’d lay on that floor for hours after the moon was already gone.

            “You’d lay there alone. Every month. Alone. In what fucked up world is that better than the possibility of one of us getting a little hurt? We aren’t idiots. We made this decision on our own and we know the risk. And we can take care of each other. The likelihood of us getting life-threateningly hurt is low but the second it happened, we’d get taken care of.”

            Remus closed his eyes, breaking their eye contact. A flicker of a memory went through him - he was so scared. He was so _little_. The darkness of night seemed to hide monsters inside of it, waiting for the worst of them to join them. But before he changed, they loomed over the scared little boy with bared teeth and eyes of black. When the light of the moon shined through the window, the darkness was gone and he was alone. He sat and screamed and bled and cried and was alone. He woke up and bled on a cold floor because that was all he could do.

            He bled so _much_. Bright red blood soaked through the floorboards and something began to grow, poking out through the planks of wood, wanting more.

            “The real reason you ‘let us’ was because you still remembered exactly what it was like to not have anyone that could.” Sirius ended, less spitting his comment but aiming it directly at Remus’ heart, where the thing that came up from the floorboards lived.

            It travelled through the cuts on his skin into his raw flesh, making his body its home. Vines and leaves entangled him, wrapped around his bones and heart, where it squeezed the tightest. Anytime he would bleed, it grew.

            If the Marauders hadn’t been there, by age seventeen he would’ve died in a mess of leaves and vine. His lifeless body would lay in a coffin, covered in green dripping with red, no sign of skin, the only part left of him his dead skeleton and still heart. He’d leave the world but his blood would remain, soaked in that cold floor.

            Once, when he was alone, on that cold floor as the first light of morning began to glow, he wondered - when he died, would he go back to human, or would his parents have to bury a wolf?

            The air was thick as Remus stared at the floor and Sirius at him. Stormclouds began to fade away, having thundered and rained and hit Remus with all the lighting it had to offer. Remus wished it had been literal rain. At least then he’d be okay with crying.

            “I have to get back to working,” said James, jaw still hard but eyes soft. “Moody will kill me if I don’t show up again.”

            He took steps toward the door, hand wrapping around the handle as he walked out. Sage glanced over at her table, where she had been working, and at the two boys. She blinked slowly, watching as Sirius reached down to grab Remus’ hand slowly, guiding him out the door with gentle touches. Just before he left, Sirius gave Sage a one-armed hug, kissing the top of her forehead.

            Remus looked lost as Sirius pulled him through the hallway and rest of the Order. It was when Sirius apparated them to his flat when he finally looked up from the floor, tears in his eyes as they met Sirius’.

            With ghosting fingers and hardened eyes Sirius handled Remus, head tilting and bending down, as Remus was still standing uncommonly small.

  



	50. Fifty

 

            James’ birthday was hard. He didn’t usually get to spend it with his parents, as it took place during the school year, but it was still different without them. The absence of a letter from his mother and a gift from his father was noted, though he tried not to let it sting too much.

            Sage made him a cake. A sweet vanilla cake, covered in too much icing (just the way he liked it) and with a deer drawn on the pink icing base. It wasn’t very pretty (or symmetrical) but James loved it - almost enough where he didn’t cut the cake just because he loved it so much, but thankfully Peter reminded him pictures existed.

            So James hung a picture on their wall of him and Sage holding the cake. Picture-Sage kept digging her finger into the icing and wiping it on James’ face. He didn’t like this, as he felt it was “giving her ideas.”

            He wasn’t wrong - as soon as he tacked the picture onto the wall, he felt something slimy run down his cheek. All he could do was turn to watch Sage stick her finger in her mouth innocently, sucking off the remaining icing.

            His mouth hung open and he watched her continue to suck on her finger for _way too long_ , eventually pulling it out with a ‘ _pop_ ’ and grinning at him. James, through his shock, grabbed onto Sage’s hand.

            “If you’re cleaning it off your finger, you should clean it off me,” he said, pulling her closer. She grinned, leaning closer and gesturing for him to bend down. James, back hunched, felt his wife’s tongue run up his cheek slowly.

            “Is this some weird sex thing, or...?” Sirius, staring at them with narrowed eyes, had only seen Sage randomly lick James (and not even someplace fun).

            Sage’s head fell back as she laughed and James chuckled, watching her with enamoured eyes. She took her hand back, walking back over to get cake, bantering with Sirius for a while before they all headed into the living room.

            By the time they finished their cake, they were all sitting on the floor (for no reason other than Peter sat there and James thought it looked nice and Sage wanted to sit in his lap and etc.), other than Sirius, who had gotten up to get something to quench his thirst.

            “It’s time for a story.” Sage sat up, James still slouching behind her. He had his arms around her waist, his grip loosening as she stopped leaning her back on his chest.

            As he sat across from Sage, drink in hand, Sirius grinned, “yeah? And what story’s this?” he raised an eyebrow teasingly.

            “It has something to do with a certain boy by the name of David.” Sage watched as Sirius figured out what she was about to do. Amusement melted into focus as the gears in his mind turned, his face going blank with shock. In an instant, he’d sprung up from his relaxed position, back straight, as he stared at Sage.

            “D-David?” he asked. Sage nodded, grinning. “David _Jones_?”

            “More specifically, Davy Jones.” Behind her, James furrowed his brow, confused as to why Sirius was having a fit.

            “I thought--” Sirius stammered, waving his arms around dramatically, “I thought it was the end of March? That was our deal--”

            “Deals change. Think of it as an early reward.” Sage shrugged, still grinning. Sirius looked like he was about to cry.

            Early release. How he longed for it. Through all of February and March, she’d been teasing him, giving him tiny details until he practically begged for more.

            The biggest thing she’d told him came when they were about to part ways, being split into different groups, going on two different missions. She’d told him, before she left him, “I cried when the Monkees broke up.”

            “That doesn’t count,” he’d said, “it’s presumable.”

            “For three days.” Sirius’ face lit up, but she wasn’t done. “Straight, nonstop. I got so dehydrated that I had to go to the hospital wing. When I was there the nurse told me I was overexcited and wouldn’t let me do anything so I sat in bed and tried to draw Davy from memory.”

            “Oh... holy... Sage... there’s still a month left... I can’t go on like this, please-- no, Sage! Come back! You tease! You minx!”

            So when Sage sat there, in her husband’s lap, claiming she was about to tell him more, he was having trouble sitting still. But God be damned he got up - he _needed_ to hear the rest. Sage began as if she was telling an epic, looking off into the distance as if she had been transported back in time.

            “When I was a young girl, only eleven or twelve, I was sheltered from the Muggle world. I knew not of their culture. I’d not experienced the things I have now. I knew no traditions, no idols, no music, nothing.” With a nostalgic and regretful look, Sage continued. “But, there to educate me, was Wendy. A Muggle-born, my greatest friend, and deeply in the know. She…” Sage sighed dramatically. “She showed me the light.”

            “Davy?” asked Peter, eyeing an eerily still Sirius.

            “Indeed.” Eyes full of regret, Sage wished she hadn't told them the story she hadn’t told them yet. Was that possible? To regret something yet to pass? It must be, because she was feeling it ( _was it too late to stop?_ ).

            “Wendy got magazines from her parents, to keep up with what happened in the Muggle world. I would find them interesting but never go past reading a page or two. But, one day, I glanced over her shoulder at the article she read. On the opposite page was nothing but a picture of Davy Jones.

            “I fell, instantly, madly, deeply, in love. Those brown eyes... so much beauty. I couldn’t control myself, and I took the magazine from Wendy--”

            “She ripped it out of my hands.”

            “--and asked who he was--”

            “--Yelled at me to tell me his name and everything about him, but sure--”

            “Okay, rude.” With a glare at Wendy, Sage continued. “Thanks to Wendy, her magazines, and the record player we borrowed, I soon knew all about him. Tiny Sage practically wrote a novel-length biography. I dunno if I still have it, but--”

            “Oh, _please_ , if you find it, you’ve got to show me,” begged Remus, leaning in closer.

            “...maybe. Anyways, I had calculated the exact distance of our birth dates from each other.”

            “And no matter how many times I told you thirteen years was too much of an age gap, you wouldn’t listen.”

            “I was an idiot, okay?” Sage rolled her eyes, “and it wasn’t thirteen years. It was... what, twelve and eleven months?”

            “Oh, pardon me, Sage. That changes everything.”

            “I had the exact number of days memorized at one point,” Sage said, thinking hard. Perhaps she could remember... it occurred to her that even if she could, she shouldn’t tell _them_ she did. “But I had every single song he was on memorized, and honestly I still remember too many of them.

            “Okay,” Sage let out a deep, regretful breath, closing her eyes as she prepared herself. Her eyes opened and met Wendy’s. Wendy had a smile on her face, that morphed into a wide grin as Sage said, “I almost made a polyjuice potion.”

            “Holy shit,” said Remus, mouth open.

            “The only reason it didn’t work out, to my disdain, was because in order to make it you’d need a part of the person you want to turn into, like hair or something, and I didn’t have anything. I was so mad, honestly, because I was fully ready to take whatever I needed from Slughorn to make it, but... he doesn’t have any Davy either.”

            As her friends stared at her (all but Wendy, who had fallen into hysterics), Sage took in another breath, “and, when that didn’t work, I tried to transfigure a pillow into him. That... failed, obviously, as I don’t have the ability to do that now and I tried when I was twelve. The pillow blew up.”

            “Ah, I knew the letter couldn’t be the only thing you made explode,” said Remus, letting out occasional giggles.

            “Wait, what letter?” asked James, leaning forward so his chest hit Sage’s back. Sage maneuvered her torso so he could face him somewhat.

            “Me, when I was thirteen, was going to send an enchanted letter to him. It blew up. Bad magic.”

            “Holy shit, Sage,” James snorted, blocking Sage’s hand as she tried to hit his chest.

            Sirius hadn’t moved, at all, since Sage had started her story. His mouth hung open, the only sign he wasn’t petrified his blinks.

            “Anyways,” said Sage, once her and James had finished their mini-play-fight. “Every time Wendy got a new magazine, I’d, er, _borrow_ it, and I’d cut out everything that had to do with him. The wall above my bed was totally covered up and I had to move on to sticking things onto… other places.”

            “She put a picture of him and his mum on my bed’s ceiling.”

            “He was watching over you.”

            “He was fucking creepy.” Wendy’s monotone voice continued with more humor and a teasing nature. “Don’t forget to mention all the lipstick marks on all of these things, from the lipstick that fourth year let you borrow.”

            “...they didn’t need to know about that--”

            “Uhh, like hell we didn’t. That’s fucking gold, Sage, come _on._ ” James rolled his eyes, turning to Wendy, “tell us the things Sage won’t because she thinks they’re too embarrassing.”

            “Oh, _fuck_ yeah,” said Wendy, cracking her knuckles and sitting up. Sage began to plead with the girl, but Wendy just ignored her.

            “ _No, Wen, Please, you know so much_.”

            “That’s the point, lovely,” James whispered into her ear, just before Wendy began.

            “She wrote stories about herself dating him. They were terrible but amazing.” Sage hissed. Wendy kept on. “She would only _consider_ dating boys who looked like Davy. But she refused to actually go out with anyone for a while because she was ‘devoted’. She was ‘saving’ her first kiss ‘for him’ for until a cute fourth year asked her, ‘do you want to kiss me?’ and her devotion flew out the window.”

            “ _WENDY PLEASE_ ,” Sage begged, clawing towards the other girl, staying in place as James held her around her waist.

            “Let’s see...”

            “ _WENDY I’M BEGGING, NO MORE_ ,” Sage watched Wendy frown and groan.

            “Fuck, that’s all I can think of right now,” Wendy groaned again.

            Sage went limp, “ _thank Merlin_.”

            “I’m…” for the first time since Sage began, Sirius moved. Tearing up, he bit his lip, voice weak, “I want more, but... this is all the best thing I’ve ever heard, and I want to thank not only current Sage and current Wendy for sharing, but also their younger selves, who went through all of this and made it so... brilliant.”

            “I hate you all, so _very_ much.”

            “Uh-huh, sure.”

            And, although the rest of the night was _horrid_ for Sage (nonstop references to Davy. when they went to bed, James whispered, amongst other teases, “ _I’m no Davy, but I’m going to make you a believer_ ”), she had a good time (including laughing at James for how fucking dumb that was). Full of regret but happy, Sage went to sleep with a smile on her face. Beside her, a giddy James fell into a pleasant dreamland, unbothered with thoughts of mourning.

 

            The snow was cleared on the street of Diagon Alley, but the air was just as cold as it had been in the rest of London. Snowflakes fell from the sky slowly, melting the second they touched the enchanted ground. April had began, but the Winter was not giving up its hold on England. Shopkeepers cared for their mostly-empty stores, as nobody wanted to go out in such bitter cold.

            But there were a select few who journeyed out, mainly those who were in desperate need of something. Sage kept her scarf wound tight around her neck and lower face, bundled up in her brown coat, gloved hands holding her wand at her side loosely. For the Wolfsbane Potion, she had to get fresh Mandrake leaves.

            And because they were one of the last things to be added, and needed to be newly-picked, Sage was buying them the day before Remus had to take his first dose. He had to take it for a week before the full moon in order for the potion to be effective, and Sage planned on having it ready that night. At the least, it’d be ready the next afternoon.

            Sage opened a shop’s door and blew inside with a gust of cold wind. Towering display cases reached the ceiling, with all kinds of ingredients grouped inside separate squares, reminiscent of a candystore.

            Walking by the more common ingredients, Sage quickly found her attention focused on the most expensive of products the store had to offer. With a glance to the counter, she crossed her arms. She needed to talk to whoever was working, but the counter was unoccupied. Perhaps, she thought, the employee was in the back.

            Pulling her scarf off her face, Sage approached the counter. The tiny bell rang out with a too-loud ding, summoning a voice from the open door to the stockroom.

            “Be out in a minute,” they said. Sage drummed her fingers on the counter, one of the only things in the shop that wasn’t dusty. After a couple seconds, she let her gaze wander around her, inspecting the cases behind her.

            “Sorry about that, how can I-- oh.” The employee emerged from the back room, staring at Sage when she snapped her attention back to the counter.

            “Lucinda?” asked Sage, more confused than anything. She hadn’t seen the girl since they had graduated. Why was she working? Her father had a high-up position in the Ministry, her life was certainly well-funded. Perhaps she’d been disowned. Either way, Sage recalled the valor with which she used to despise the girl and felt even more confused.

            The woman who stood in front of her was very much unlike the Lucinda she had known. Glaring gazes and snotty sneers were gone, replaced by frowning chapped lips and tired eyes. It seemed foolish to hate this Lucinda, the working class woman. But even then, Sage felt a bubbling anger deep inside of her, all from the girl she’d known from school.

            “Sage Charles.” Lucinda seemed equally as flustered, drawing out the syllables as she said Sage’s name. Or, Sage’s old name. She didn’t quite have the energy to correct her.

            “Haven’t seen you since Hogwarts,” said Sage, although it was obvious. Lucinda, taking a step closer to the counter and leaning a hand on its surface, nodded.

            “You, er, you look well,” said Lucinda. The dusty air hung around them, full of awkward glances. Sage nodded.

            “You too.” Clearing her throat, Sage’s eyes flickered around the room. “You work here?”

            “Yeah. You need something?” Lucinda scolded herself. She was supposed to be nice to customers, but how was she to sound sickly sweet while she stood awkwardly with her school rival?

            “Yes, actually,” Sage pushed the feelings of the encounter down. She had things to do, reasons why she was there. “I need a couple mandrake leaves, but they’ve got to have just been picked.”

            “Alright,” Lucinda turned, clapping her hands together as a method of thinking. “I think I might have some in the back that are fresher. I’ll, er, be right back.”

            Sage nodded, even though Lucinda had already vanished into the back room once more. She let out a heavy breath, her shoulders untensing, and intertwined her fingers. With another glance behind her, she looked down at the tiny bell on the counter in an attempt to distract herself ( _nice divots. Not shiny, probably was at some point, most definitely enchanted. How fascinating)._

            After what felt like much longer than it really was, Lucinda emerged with hands full. Sage leaned closer, looking into the bin Lucinda placed onto the counter.

            “Picked this morning, I think. Or last night. Recently.”

            Sage nodded. She wished she could’ve gotten leaves picked the moment before she used them, but she realized that wouldn’t happen, unless she wanted to grow her own. This was very aggressively not an option, as she would sooner cut off her own hand than have to deal with growing and caring for mandrakes in her spare time.

            As Lucinda rang up her leaves, Sage watched her with an investigative curiosity that soon took control.

            “So, ‘s working here nice?” she asked, easing into what she really wanted to ask.

            “Yeah, pretty nice.” Lucinda responded, distracted as she placed the leaves in a brown paper bag.

            “Why are you working here?”

            “You mean, why am I working, I assume.” Handing the bag to Sage, Lucinda scoffed - the truest to her past self she had been since Sage saw her. Sage took the bag awkwardly and watched Lucinda as she continued with a sarcastic smile, “I would’ve thought you read about it. Was all over the Prophet.”

            Sage’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember. Shaking her head, she admitted, “I don’t think I did.”

            “Really?” smile fading into surprise, Lucinda stared at Sage. “I assumed you read and saw my last name and had a party or something.”

            “Why would I’ve done that?”

            “Oh, you don’t have to act all offended. I know you hate me.”

            “I’m lost.”

            Lucinda scoffed again. Sage felt a brush of nostalgia.

            “My father getting arrested for embezzlement? My family name, tarnished? Come on, it was a huge deal.”

            “Maybe to you,” Sage shrugged, taking a step back. “But I didn’t know. I don’t think anyone I know knew. The world goes on. You seem to be doing well. Maybe the ‘Talkalot’ name was ruined, but yours wasn’t.”

            “Okay…” Lucinda watched Sage turn to leave, the air still thick. It took a lot for her to not argue - she really needed this job (no matter how much she wanted to yell, “you don’t understand - how could you? My family name means everything to me!”). “Thanks for your business, Charles.”

            Sage, grin worming onto her face, glanced back. “It’s Potter.”

            “What?”

            “My last name.”

            “Potter? Are you telling me you married that-- you know what, I’m just going to keep my job and say ‘congratulations’.”

            “Thanks,” Sage bit back a laugh as she pulled her scarf over her face again, staring out at the street. Holding the leaves close, she opened the door and journeyed out into the cold.

 

            “Once a day?” Remus stared at the goblet in his hands, watching faint blue smoke flow from the potion inside it. In front of him, the woman who just handed him the potion nodded.

            “Once a day, until the full moon. A gobletful, otherwise it won’t work. If it works.”

            “Why do I have the feeling it's going to taste gross?” Remus finally looked up at Sage with an already nasty face.

            Sage shrugged, “all the best quality medicine tastes gross. We all have to suffer for health. It’s dumb.”

            Remus made a noise as if he agreed but wished he didn’t. Sage tried not to smile, pursing her lips. They still curled up at the edges and her cheeks still showed how amused she was, making Remus scowl.

            “Pray for me,” said Remus immediately after downing the potion. Taking the goblet away from his mouth, he made a face which told Sage he had indeed been right about it tasting gross.

            “Oh God,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh, Sage, it’s so bad. Oh shit, there’s a second wave-- oh no, it’s so gross.” He placed the goblet onto the table beside him, making various unhappy noises. “I’m so grateful, but... _fuck_. You _witch_.”

            “Oh, you poor thing,” said Sage, in a manner not-at-all comforting. It was more like the way an American Southern old lady would say, “oh, bless your heart,” to someone who’d just done something incredibly foolish.

            “Blah.” Remus stuck out his tongue overdramatically. “Is there any way to make that... not as horrid?”

            Sage shook her head, “because the universe hates you, sugar makes it ineffective.”

            “ _Why?_ ”

            “Well, if you’re talking scientifically, it’s because it counteracts ingredients in the potion, but otherwise? I dunno. Sucks, donnit?”

            “Fuck.” Remus groaned again, making another displeased noise. “I’m not looking forward to--”

            A knock on the door cut him off. Sage tensed, not knowing what to do - people weren’t really aware she was in there. And she didn’t exactly know what to do if someone came in. Pretend to be whipping up a common potion? She could see it - “ _oh, hello, Moody. Just making a bit of liquid luck. Good for combat--_ ” Sage cut off her own fantasy with thoughts of that _actually being a good idea_.

            The door opened just enough for a person to slip in and close it again. Sage let out a breath of relief, untensing.

            “James?” Sage asked, turning to her husband. Beside her, Remus attempted to get the taste out of his mouth by stretching his tongue around wildly.

            “Yeah, he-- wow, nice tongue, mate.”

            “Your g-- wife tried to poison me. Fuck. I keep forgetting the whole ‘married’ thing. I was there. I watched it happen.”

            “Honestly, I often forget my last name isn’t Charles anymore. Paperwork sucks.” Sage stepped closer to James, kissing him sweetly. Upon pulling away, she gestured to Remus, “he says wolfsbane tastes gross.”

            “It’s the worst.”

            “That sucks. Better than wolfing out, though, I assume?”

            “Oh, fuck,” Remus threw his head back, as if he’d just tasted something delightful. “ _So much_ better.”

            “Lets just hope it works,” said Sage, gazing into the cauldron. “It’s been so long since I’ve made anything…”

            “It’ll work, lovely,” James wrapped an arm around her waist, kissing her temple. “I’m sure.”

            “But just to be sure, you should prepare for it not working. I’d rather take unnecessary precaution than have it not work and…”

            “I go full wolf. Don’t worry.” Remus smiled, still tasting the potion. Sage looked up at James.

            “Why are you here?” she asked. James gasped, feigning offence.

            “How rude. Can’t I just be here? Because I wanted to see my lovely wife? Are you not happy to see me?” Sage rolled her eyes and hit his chest, glancing at Remus as if to ask, _‘can you believe him?_ ’

            “James, don’t torture her. She’s stuck with you forever. Be nice.”

            “Exactly - she’s stuck with me forever. I can do whatever I want.”

            “You know divorces exist, correct?”

            “You wouldn’t - you knew what you were in for when you proposed.”

            “...true.” Sage shrugged, looking at him again, “but why are you here? Did something happen?”

            “No, actually, I just…” James took in a breath, “I was thinking we could look at houses.”

            “Wait, are you two looking to buy a house?” Remus asked. James nodded, so he continued, “didn’t your parents leave you their house?”

            “Yeah,” James’ smile turned sadder, “but I just... can’t live there, you know?”

            Remus nodded, closing his eyes as if he did, but he didn’t. He opened his eyes and smiled, “I don’t blame you for leaving that flat, though. Surprised it took you until almost the end of winter, though.”

            “We’ve suffered too much. And we figure the freezing will switch off and we’ll die of heatstroke in summer.” Sage shifted her weight between feet.

            “And a house is better for starting a family.” James grinned, Sage nodding unsurely.

            “Uh-huh, that too, I guess,” she said. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want kids, she did, but she couldn’t help but think-- she’d have to raise them and teach them morals and such... that is if she didn’t end up killing them on accident. James didn’t seem to care-- he just wanted tiny minions of mischief.

            “But I found someplace I think you’ll like-- it’s a village, a lot like that French one you lived in, yanno? It’s small and pretty and I was thinking of just walking around. Yeah, it’s cold, but it's not as snowy, and it’s really pretty there with the snow.”

            Sage thought for a second. Cold outdoors? She wasn’t in the mood. But otherwise, she’d be going back to their cold flat. And going to look would mean she was closer to leaving the freezing environment she lived in…

            “Okay,” she said finally, beginning to mentally prepare herself for the chill of outside. James lit up, waved to Moony, and grabbed Sage’s hand to pull her out the door and out of the Order.

 

            With a crack, the Potters returned home. Sage, shivering, held her arms close to herself as James rushed into the kitchen to put the kettle on, taking off his outer clothes as he bounded across the floor.

            Tired and cold, Sage plopped onto the couch, only removing her coat when she’d gotten a blanket to wrap herself in. It didn’t take long for James to join her with two mugs of tea in his hands. Sage took hers, sipping it although it was far too hot. She snuggled up to her husband’s side, attempting to absorb some of his warmth as she threw the blanket over him so it covered them both.

             They stayed out far too long, much longer than they had intended to, because they’d discovered a newfound love. James had been spot on when he thought Sage might like Godric’s Hollow (although, when he first told her “it’s named after Gryffindor,” she responded with a raised brow, “so we can live in a village named after _your_ house, but not Hufflepuff?” James, distraught, told her, “ _there aren’t any named after her! Just give it a chance, Sage!_ ”).

            It was good she listened to him. The village was quaint, more so than the French town had been, with a narrow street with similar-looking cottages on either side, leading down to the village centre, lit up with golden street lamps. Everything was covered in a layer of snow, the pair’s footprints trailing behind them as they walked around.

            James told Sage factoids while they explored. As they peered into a pub, he said to her, “the first Snitch was forged here.” And whilst they glanced at a graveyard of snow-covered tombstones, like lumps under a sparkling white blanket, he whispered ominously, “that’s supposed to be haunted.”

            A cottage on the edge of the village stood against a backdrop of white. An overgrown hedge and small gate bordered a small yard Sage imagined had a garden under all the snow. The house itself was two stories and made of stone. It was vacant, James told her, with a grin that let her know he loved it just as much as she did. All of their self control fell into making sure they didn’t buy it right after seeing it.

            Godric’s Hollow was, as Sage described, a mixture of Fromont and Hogsmeade. James and Sage both loved it, staying outside to explore for far too long, as neither seemed to want to go so soon.

            But, when Sage was shivering and James could no longer feel most of his legs, they figured it was time to go home. Sitting on their couch, they looked at their flat in a different way. Now that they’d seen what they wanted, their current residence seemed much more... pathetic. Sage felt cramped and James wished they had more windows (additionally, he could _see it_ \-- raising kids there. While they still lived in the flat, though? He couldn’t imagine).  

            The rest of their night was spent praising the cottage on the edge of the Hollow and comparing it to their flat (“the walls here are so boring! Why is that suddenly so… ominous?!”). They both fell asleep wishing they were there, travelling into dreams of a new home.

  
              Remus drank the last dose with a determined disgust. Sage and the other Marauders watched him slam the empty goblet onto the table as if he’d downed a pint.

            “Ay,” said Sirius, clapping him on the back softly, “nice form, mate.”

            “I hope it works.” Sage chewed the nail on her thumb - the habit had been coming back more and more lately.

            “Well,” said Peter, not wanting to make any comments full of false hope. “We’ll see tonight.”

            “Speaking of which, we should probably head out soon, lads.” James glanced down at the goblet. There was the slightest bit of liquid left in it, hanging at the bottom. He wondered, briefly, if drinking it would kill him.

            “Yea.” Remus, still chewing on the awful taste in his mouth, turned to Sage. Trying his damndest to sound as authentically thankful as he was, he stared into her eyes and attempted to bare his soul through them. “Thank you.”

            Watching Sage’s smile reach her eyes, Remus felt a warmth spread through him. He hoped she got wrinkles from that. She deserved smile lines.

            “Really.” He spoke clearly and sharply, ignoring the ache in his bones brought on by the ever-fuller moon. “Thank you.”

            “Go on, you,” she said, grinning as she turned away from him, looking at the other boys. “All of you.”

            Remus hugged Sage, walking off as James kissed her sweetly. The two of them headed out the door, followed by Peter. Sirius and Sage stepped into the doorway, where he gave her a one-armed hug and a kiss on the top of her head before following after the other Marauders.

            Sage watched them leave with her lip between her teeth, letting out a heavy breath and stepping back into her ‘potion lair’ (as James had been calling it) and closing the door behind her.

            Sitting onto the wooden stool, she leaned her elbows on the table, closing her eyes. A rush of thought fell through her, quickly soaking her mind.

            _Will it work?_ She couldn’t help her doubts. She’d spent more time and effort on this potion than she had on any other, but... what if she hadn’t done it right? It was her first time, and she usually took a couple tries to do something properly.

            _What if it did?_ Remus would still have to suffer through a transformation each month. Sure, it would be so much better, as he’d keep his mind and just be able to rest, but... Sage suddenly transported back to when she’d found that book at Hogwarts which told her exactly what the transformation was like.

            Other thoughts flashed by-- _is August okay? I haven’t heard from Xan since the wedding, and no matter what they said, I couldn’t help but think... Why did Peter seem so tired? Fuck, that house was nice. That mission last week was pretty fucking terrifying--_

            Letting out a groan, Sage opened her eyes and closed the gigantic Potions book. Maybe one day she wouldn’t need it anymore, she’d just remember after doing it every lunar month for so long. Like with cookies; during the holiday season, she made so many cookies she could do it in her sleep.

            But it occurred to Sage that making cookies and brewing Wolfsbane were two very different things.

 

            Sage almost cried. She had expected it to work, really, but there was a deep part of herself which doubted. It was hard for her to tell if that voice was anxiety or instinct.

            But James told her, with a very sleepy Remus behind him, that the night had gone by without any issue. The potion had worked, and all that happened was Remus turning into a wolf, harmless but tired, keeping his mind.

            “We decided to stay just in case things went sour,” said James, Remus closing and opening his eyes slowly. “But we ended up sleeping there.”

            Sage couldn’t help but imagine the four boys, all in animal forms, sleeping in a very soft and all too adorable pile. A wolf lay between a deer and a big, black dog, with a rat at its feet. Warm and safe and content, the way it should’ve been.

            “So you stayed totally in control?” Sage asked Remus, who nodded slowly.

            “Yeah,” he said, it quickly turning into a yawn. He smiled, “you’re a miracle worker, Prongsette.”

            Rolling her eyes and grinning, Sage crossed her arms. “It was nothing, Moony. I’m glad I could finally help in some way.” She watched him yawn again and added, “but now, you need to go to bed, alright?”

            Remus said nothing, simply nodding and raising a hand in a wave goodbye as he walked off, into his room. Sage immediately turned back to James, grinning, as she said, “it worked!”

            James grinned right back, “it did. I’m so proud of you.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, resting his chin atop her forehead. “You tired?”

            “A little. Mainly, I’m just happy.”

            “I can understand that.” James was silent for a second before saying suddenly, “do you want to go buy that house?”

            Sage pulled away quickly, staring at him with wide eyes. A grin began to worm onto her face again as she admitted, “hell yeah.”


	51. Fifty-One

            “You bought a house.”

            “We bought a house!”

            The two sentences were similar, but came delivered exceptionally differently. The former, total monotone and a hint of shock. The latter, enthusiastic and giddy.

            “I... I didn’t even know you two were _looking_ to get a house.”

            James grimaced. “We weren’t, _really_ , but we found one, so…”

            “So you bought it.”

            “Yea.”

            August nodded, lips pursed. He wasn’t _against_ it, and he had imagined they would move sometime in the future. It occurred to him his work with the Order took up so much of his time that he didn’t know anything about his sister’s life. _That_ , he didn’t like.

            “Well,” said August, clicking his tongue. “That’s, er, that’s nice, I guess.”

            “Yeah, we’re really excited,” Sage began, holding onto her husband lovingly. “I don’t get why so many people say moving is so stressful. Everything’s been going so well. We’ve gotten almost everything into the new house, we’re set to start decorating somewhat soon, and it’s all been lovely.”

            “Uh huh,” August nodded. With a glance behind his shoulder, he mentally groaned. Why did this have to be the only time nobody needed him? “I’m glad.”

            “Yeah, it’s been so nice.” Sage looked up at James, meeting his eyes. August pursed his lips awkwardly as they stared at each other and he tried to look away. The plant directly to his right was interesting. Nice long and wide leaves. Cool shape. Neat.

 

            The Mark was already in the sky when they arrived. Menacing green hung against the stars as if it were a new constellation. A snake slithered from the mouth of a skull like a tongue. Sage didn’t know why _they_ had chosen it as their mark, but it was effective. They’d wanted it to imbue fear into the hearts of those who saw it, and it did.

            But the fear didn’t come due to the shape they’d chosen. No, it was what the mark meant that struck a dark feeling into hearts. After so many examples, it was inferred that the mark appeared wherever the Death Eaters had killed.

            It was unclear what exactly would be inside the old pub, but the mark made sure they knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

            Keeping her hands steady, Sage hurried forward with the others by her side. The door hung open, the only thing keeping it attached to the doorway one hinge that seemed seconds away from falling to the ground.

            It was dark inside, the only light sources broken. Glass from shattered bulbs sat underneath light fixtures, glowing as Sirius lit up his wand, reflecting light in shimmering splashes.

            Overturned tables, broken bottles, blank walls where all prior decoration had fallen to the ground, piles on the edges of the room. Sage took a step further in, lighting up her own wand as glass cracked under her feet. The window had been broken.

            “You ever been here before?” Sirius’ words fell from his mouth in a puff of white, his breath visible in the cold of a spring night that wouldn’t let go of winter.

            “No.” Sage took another step forward, raising her wand to illuminate further ahead of her. A door lay on the floor beside a doorway to a stairwell. All that was visible was wooden stairs and darkness, like the walk up would deliver them into a solid black world.  “Have you?”

            “Once.” Sirius glanced at James. “Wasn’t really anything I want to remember, though.”

            As silence fell over them, Sage put a hand out to stop them, bringing her finger to her lips and straining her ears. Without the crunching of glass underfoot and creaks of wood, the only sounds were those from upstairs. Above them, someone was sobbing as someone else laughed.

            Sirius’ eyes widened as he recognized the laugh. He’d know the shrill cackling anywhere. Forgetting Sage’s command, he continued forward, faster. He knew what the laugh meant - whoever was sobbing wouldn’t be for long.

            The staircase led them to a hallway, dimly lit solely by wandlight. Paintings hung on the walls, testaments to the place it used to be.

            Sage’s fingers brushed over a scorch mark on the patterned wallpaper, one of the only things that seemed out of the ordinary. Besides the marks and the darkness, blacker and more sinister than regular night, the hall seemed untouched, a bitter contrast to the pub below.

            Giggles were louder, then, but still faint. Almost reminiscent to a child playing hide-and-seek who waited to be found. The sobbing seemed muffled, presumably by a terrified hand.

            “ _You don’t want them to hear, do you? Quiet down._ ” The only way Sirius could hear the whispers was with his ear pressed against the cold, wooden door.

            “ _Please,_ ” said a hoarse, small voice, through their sobs. “ _Please don’t--_ ”

            “ _I said be quiet,_ ” the giggler hissed. Sirius scowled, taking his ear off the door and stepping back. With a nod to James and Peter, he raised his wand and blasted the door down.

            “Oh, you’ve come to play, have you?” Standing, the woman stepped away from the figure on the floor, who remained there, holding themselves. Beside them, the dead bodies of those the witch had gotten tired of.

            Sirius didn’t bother with petty introductions and shot a spell at her with no hesitation. Sage rushed over to the Muggle, trying to get them out of there. They didn’t move, only shaking their head aggressively. Sage noticed the scorch marks on the wall behind them, darker and more sinister than those in the hall. Swirls of burnt wallpaper above where dead bodies lay.

            “It’s no use, darling,” said Bellatrix, glancing over at Sage as she deflected Sirius. Behind her, a man emerged from the shadows of the room, immediately shooting spells at James. “She’s gone already. Or nearly. Held up longer than her brothers.”

            “ _Peter_ ,” Sage commanded. The boy rushed beside her and they both took an arm, trying to get the Muggle to stand.

            “ _No._ ” It was as if they had cinder blocks on their feet. They would not stand. “ _Please.”_

            Sirius sent another spell at his cousin upon noticing the ages of the dead Muggles. About the age where they could’ve gone off to Hogwarts. James knocked out the man he’d been dueling and joined his wife.

            “You bitch.” Sirius spoke to Bellatrix for the first time that night, his wand pointed at her. “You psychotic bitch.”

            James, Peter, and Sage had finally managed to get the Muggle onto their feet and began to bring them out of the room. It was a team effort, as they kept screaming and trying to get back to where they’d been. James got punched in his face.

            “I bet you love to hear screaming children, don’t you?” Sirius hissed. The Muggle grabbed onto the doorway, digging their fingernails into the wood and trying their best to stay in the room. With another scream, they were pulled into the hallway.

            “It doesn’t get old as soon,” said Bellatrix, her wide grin contrasting Sirius’ horrified scowl.

            A shiver went down Sage’s spine as she lost sight of Sirius and another shrill laugh came from Bellatrix. A flash of light made her heart stop. Seconds later, a disturbed Sirius emerged from the doorway, breath escaping him.

            “She’s gone.” He spoke over the sobs of the Muggle, who sat on the floor. Sage kneeled by and whispered to them in an attempt to comfort them, but it was of no use.

            She stood, whispering at the boys, “Cruciatus curse. She’s done a real number on them, I don’t know if they’ll ever recover.”

            The boys shared a solemn look. James began to suggest what further action they could take, and Sage was only half listening.

            On the wall, in a portrait, was the girl on the floor. It was a different person, almost. The portrait showed a girl with a bright smile, holding onto three boys who stood considerably shorter than them. She had her hair in braids, ribbons holding them in. On her face, glasses framed bright blue eyes.

            The girl on the floor’s hair was loose, her face bare, and eyes dark and empty. What once was the colour of the sky on a pale, cloudless afternoon, had changed like the sky when a terrible storm hung above.

            Sage closed her eyes as another shiver went through her. The cold air posed no threat and was no bother, but the stench of death surrounded them, piercing through her body through her nose.

            The mark, once again, had solidified its meaning.

 

            Sage was yawning when Wendy spoke the first time, shaking her head as if it’d relieve her of her tiredness (James had kept her up last night, the scoundrel).

            “Sorry, what?” she asked. Wendy’s smile didn’t falter, her fingers playing with the mug in her hands.

            “I said, Remus’ been helping me a lot,” Wendy repeated. Sage nodded, gesturing for her to continue. “And we’ve found out what my Patronus is.”

            “What?!” Sage sat up suddenly, the tea in her hands sloshing around. “You’ve made a corporeal Patro-- what is it?!”

            “Calm down!” Wendy laughed, a high, sweet, and perfected laugh. Sage stared at her. “It was an elephant.”

            Sage sat back, falling into deep thought. An elephant. What were the properties or whatever of elephants? They were gentle, and smart, and... she couldn’t put her finger on why, but she knew it fit.

            “An elephant…” she trailed off, staring into her tea. She nodded and looked up at Wendy with a smile. “Yeah, that seems right. An elephant.”

            “It surprised me-- Remus, too. Only a bit of silver had come out, then _bam_. Gigantic elephant burst out.” Wendy waved a hand around as she spoke, the other gripping her cup.

            “Holy shit,” Sage laughed. Her mind still buzzed. _Wendy’s an elephant._

 

            Sage was much more confident the second time around. A week before the full moon, the potion was ready again. Remus stared into the cauldron as she filled a goblet, blue smoke falling from it.

            “So how’s interior decorating going?” Remus asked, stalling. “Things working out okay?”

            The scowl on Sage’s face told him what he needed to know.

            “That bad, huh?”

            “James and I are having a bit of a... _disagreement_.” The way she said it made him sure it was much worse than a simple conflict. A brief picture of James sleeping on the couch flashed through his mind.

            “That’s not good. What happened?”

            Sage sucked her teeth. Remus was sure that if she hadn’t had things in her hands, they’d be on her hips angrily.

            “We can’t fucking agree what colour to paint the fucking living room.” She spoke with such bitterness that Remus was scared to let out the laugh building in his throat. But she wasn’t done, rolling her eyes as she told him, “I want yellow to go with the kitchen, but he thinks purple. And he suggested doing yellow on one wall and purple on the other, but do you know what the opposite colour of yellow is?!”

            “...Purple?” Remus bit his lip to keep from laughing.

            “It’s fucking purple! It looks gross!” Sage seemed genuinely angry, and Remus began to regret his attempts of stalling.

            “Why don’t you try a different colour? If you can’t agree on it purple or yellow, just go through a whole bunch of them until you find one you both like.”

            Sage grumbled something under her breath and shoved the smoking goblet into his hands. Remus grimaced at it. His memory reminded him how gross it tasted, but he still thought, _it couldn’t be that bad. It’s not as bad as I remember. Just drink it._

            _Oh, God, it’s worse._

            Sage took the goblet from him and placed it on the table, crossing her arms and chewing on her lip as Remus recovered from the terrible taste. Her eyes stared at the ground, brow furrowed. Watching her, Remus got the impression their fight was a _lot_ worse than she was letting on.

            “Sage…” he asked, her eyes snapping up to him. “How bad is this ‘argument’?”

            Hands grabbing her sweater sleeves tightly, she closed her eyes and let her lip fall out of her teeth.

            “It’s bad,” she said, voice small. Remus watched her green eyes open again as she continued. “We’ve fought before, but…”

            “It’s never been this bad.”

            “Yeah.” Sage shifted her weight, “we’ve even had _bad_ fights, too. But this one is just… we, er, we practically did all the things people told us ‘don’t do this when you’re fighting’. We tried to put it aside, but... we practically aren’t talking.”

            “Shit.”

            “Yeah. I don’t think he _tries_ to be obnoxious, but…” Sage picked at her nails. Remus nodded, shoving a hand into his pocket.

            “He is. I know. He gets _really_ obnoxious sometimes.” Remus had lived with the boy for seven years, he would be one to ask.

            “I just... don’t want to be arguing anymore. But we’ve got to work it out. At least we both agree the living room needs to be repainted.” Sage shrugged, wiping her eye. “I should talk to him, shouldn’t I?”

            “Make sure he talks, too.”

            Sage apparated home with a crack, hung her jacket up and took off her shoes, and called out for her husband. At the silence, she bit her lip, walking further into the house.

            James was walking through a hallway, about to head up the stairs, when she saw him.

            “James,” she said, forcing herself not to cross her arms. He turned, giving her a once-over. “Why didn’t you answer me? I called for you.”

            “I didn’t hear you.” James already sounded annoyed, following up with, “I was in the bathroom. _Sorry._ ”

            He said it in the most unapologetic manner he possibly could. A wave of anger rushed through Sage. She scoffed, about to snap right back at him.

            “ _Jam_ \-- you know what? Fuck it.” Sage turned on her heel, taking a couple (particularly aggressive) steps before glancing back at him and hissing, _“well?_ ”

            James followed after her slowly as she stormed into the living room and pulled out her wand.

            She pointed at the walls, at the gross colour they both hated, and looked him in his eyes while saying, “ _bad.”_

            With a wave of her wand, the walls turned the purple he liked. She pointed at it again and maintained the aggressive eye contact. “ _Bad.”_

            Another wave turned it the yellow she wanted. She gestured to it and scoffed, “bad, _apparently_.”

            Suddenly, the walls were a soft red. She looked at him, less _curious_ than demanding an opinion from him. He shrugged and made a face that caused her to turn it a nice tan. He shook his head.

            Green. Magenta. Light blue. Lilac. Grey. Indigo. White. Off-white. Orange.

            It didn’t take long for their shoulders to untense and frowns to fade. At one point, they both ended up sat on the floor while James shouted out random colours.

            “Hot pink!” Tears pricked at Sage’s eyes as she laughed. With a wave, the walls were hot pink. Her laughter got louder and wilder as she made a disgusted face.

            “Oh Merlin, it’s so bad,” said Sage, between laughs. James grinned.

            “Neon green!”

            “Moldy green!”

            “Piss yellow!”

            “James!” Sage’s wand arm fell, and she stared at him, still laughing.

            “Pale Goldenrod!”

            “I-don’t-even-know-what-that-is!” Sage said, between laughs. James’ grin widened even more, as he began to snicker.

            “Light goldenrod!”

            “ _What?!”_

            “Light goldenrod _yellow_!”

            Unable to speak, Sage fell over onto the floor, eyes squeezed shut. James threw his head back and joined her, howling with laughter. He attempted to say another colour, but was unable to make out any words while he laughed so hard. In an attempt to get air, Sage reached her hand out, grabbing at nothing, until he took it, holding it as they began to calm.

            Opening her eyes, green met hazel, and laughter faded into soft smiles.

            “Goldenrod isn’t a colour, honey.”

            “And ‘Elvendork’ isn’t really a name, but _guess what we’re naming our firstborn_?”

            “I love you, I really do, but my child is not being named Elvendork. No matter-- don’t give me those doe eyes! We aren’t-- oh, the pout, too? James, I swear--”

            They went to bed that night with a strange combination of colours on their walls. On the one behind the old leather couch, the wall was scarlet with golden accents and a gold border. To its right, the colours switched-- soft yellow base with black accents and border. The third wall was a nice lilac (the one purple Sage was willing to paint her walls) and the fourth a woody brown.

            As Sage turned out the lights in the living room to go upstairs for the night, she stared into it at the clusterfuck of colour on the walls. Most likely, they’d change it (it was sweet but a bit too chaotic) later, probably when Sirius came over and threw a fit (“it’s so clashy, what the fuck, you two? Are you _blind_?!”). But for then, Sage just cringed and smiled. It was sweet.

            And she’d _never_ tell James how much she liked the way the Gryffindor wall looked. He’d turn the whole house Gryffindor colours. She just couldn’t have that (her poor Hufflepuff heart). How dare the Gryffindors have such a pretty colour scheme? It went _too_ well with the couch. And the rug. And the table. And the rest of everything. But fuck, James wouldn’t let her forget what it meant. Every time she walked into the room, he’d be all “guess you’re fond of Gryffindors now, huh? Finally acknowledged we’re the superior House?” She’d die.

 

            Mr. Kippit was a lovely old man, 93 years old and wise. He had a big nose and thinner eyes and a great big grin. Sage was always happy to see him, really. She hadn’t gotten to for a while, as she figured out her new life. Juggling moving, working for the Order, and brewing an extremely complex potion was difficult, but she was sorting it out. Moving had calmed down and brewing Wolfsbane was becoming easier (though the Order was demanding more and more as the war continued to worsen).

            But, for the first time in forever, Sage got to go into work. The smell of old books surrounding her and sweet music coming from a record player much older than her made her muscles loosen and eyes brighten.

            Working there was a nice break from the rest of her life. She didn’t have to think about the war when she was ringing up some lady’s books. The bookshop was in a different world, away from the chaos the Wizarding world was falling into.

            Although he was old, Mr. Kippit was spry and energetic. He got things done and was happy to do so. As he told Sage, he believed in always working “as hard as your body lets you.”

            But still, at the end of sweeping the floor, he’d take a rest on one of the armchairs at the front of the store with a cup of tea in his hands (usually fixed by Sage). Sage worked on organizing the few books that had gotten out of place while he sat, waiting for the tea in his hands to cool, steam flowing up inches from his nose.

            “Winter’s finally letting go of us,” said Mr. Kippit. Sage poked her head out from behind a bookshelf, stepping so she could talk to him. “‘Bout time, too.”

            “Sure is.” Sage nodded; it was almost May, and the spring was finally getting a foothold. She’d already started preparations for her garden.

            “You know,” he began, putting down his tea to fold his hands, “it’s about time we’ve got a Prime Minister who’s a woman.”

            Sage cringed. Sirius had been getting a bit too much into Muggle politics, and he had a few _choice words_ about Margaret Thatcher.

            But Mr. Kippit wasn’t done. “Shame we had to get stuck with a demon.”

            Sage’s mouth hung open while Mr. Kippit shook his head shamefully. The corners of her open mouth turned up and she watched him tut, grabbing his tea again.

 

            Sage apparated home with a crack. She trudged into the living room and laid on the couch, closing her eyes and groaning. Sunshine poured through the windows onto her back, as she turned her head to face the sun, eyes still closed.

            A sudden knock on the door startled her and she shot up, taking clumsy bounds over to see who it was that had practically banged their fist on the door erratically.

            The door swung open, and Sage came face-to-face with none other than Wendy. But she didn’t look like her usual self. No, there were trails down her cheeks and tears which had yet to fall in her eyes. Her lip trembled and shoulders shook as she sniffed.

            Sage took one look at her and pulled her inside, hugging her and guiding her into the living room to sit on the couch. Wendy sniffled, putting her face in her hands the second she sat.

            Attempting to ask what was wrong while still comforting her, Sage rubbed circles on Wendy’s back slowly and tried to look at Wendy’s face.

            “Sh--” Wendy sobbed, her voice shaking as she looked up and over at Sage. “Sh-she b-broke u-up with m-me.”

            “Diana?” Sage’s brow furrowed, and she rubbed more aggressive circles. Wendy let out another sob, her whole body shaking as it escaped her. She nodded pathetically, eyes flooded with tears.

            Sage’s shoulders fell and she let out a tired breath, leaning back to guide Wendy to lay her head on her lap. Not touching Wendy’s hair, Sage rubbed her shoulders and didn’t know what to say.

            Wendy continued to shake and sob, finally calming enough to sit up, leaning back onto the couch. She let out a heavy breath, closing her eyes. They opened, and she stared at Sage, her dark brown eyes shimmery and sad.

            “You know how,” she began, voice slowly becoming more and more steady, “so many first kisses are unsure, full of fear of unrequited feelings and... hesitant?”

            Wendy didn’t give Sage any time to answer as she stared ahead, at the window with golden sun streaming through. “Ours wasn’t like that.

            “It was one of the only things I’ve ever been 100% sure of. There was no gentle parts, but it wasn’t… hard, either. When we kissed, we both knew it was exactly what we wanted and were just glad we’d gotten there. She made me brave. I wasn’t scared, and I didn’t have a single worry in my mind. I just was… happy.”

            Pausing to let out a breath, Wendy closed her eyes. “Nothing about us was unsure. We just dove right into each other, but we ended up swimming too far down, I guess. We forgot to come up for air.” Wendy’s voice broke as she continued.

            “When she broke up with me, she said I was too much. Too much to deal with. I dunno.” Her eyes opened. “I guess I drowned her. She drowned in me, because I was too much for her. She filled me up and made me whole and I think she might’ve been drowning me, too, but I don’t-- didn’t care. I was happy with her. It was one of the few things I was content with, but… I guess I was too busy thinking of me in her that I didn’t see her leave me. Maybe I just ignored it, or whatever… I dunno.

            “I miss her so much, Sage,” said Wendy in a broken whisper, glancing back at her best friend. Her eyes flickered up to the ceiling as she continued. “I’ve missed her for so long, now that I think about it. She hasn’t been all with me for a while. I’ve ignored the fact that she was drifting away from me because I was still living in the past. When we were younger.

            “That’s another thing she said-- ‘we aren’t sixteen and dumb anymore. We aren’t living simple lives.’ I… I used her as an escape from the horrors of the world right now, and she got tired of it. We’re both at fault. I drowned her, and she didn’t bother to tell me about it. She just let it happen until she couldn’t take it anymore.”

            “Wendy…” said Sage, reaching out for the girl. Wendy had silent tears running down her emotionless face. “Even if she ‘drowned in you’, it wasn’t your fault. Not really.”

            Wendy looked over, blinking once to get the tears to stop clouding her vision. “Wha’d’you mean?”

            “It’s not like you baited her or something. It wasn’t just you who dove into the other. You took each other's hand and jumped as one. That was her decision. You didn’t make her do anything. You were together as two different people, not as one person finally made whole. And that’s how it should be. But I think neither of you really understood that. You were looking for your other half, and so was she. But you didn’t fit together. You aren’t puzzle pieces, you’re two separate puzzles.

            “And if she was drowning in you for so long, she should’ve told you. Yeah, maybe you should’ve done something, but that isn’t all on you. She’s capable of telling you how she feels and trying to fix things. But she didn’t, which is unfair to you. You aren’t a mind reader. You can’t tell exactly what she wants if she doesn’t tell you, and she never told you. You kept your relationship similar to what it was when you were sixteen because she didn’t tell you she wanted it to change.”

            Sage squinted as she continued to think. “And honestly, it’s, like, impossible for your relationship to be the same. It’s changed. That whole point was dumb.”

            Wendy smiled sadly, her head falling back. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be sad anymore.”

            “I know, honey,” said Sage, rubbing Wendy’s arm. “I wish you didn’t have to be and I wish you never would be. You deserve to be happy, but right now things are shitty so let’s just go listen to sad music. And maybe force James to go get us sweets when he gets home.”  


            “Holy fucking shit, Sirius, a little warning would be nice,” said James, hand over his heart to calm its erratic beating. Sirius smirked, shrugging as he walked past James to lean against the counter. The loud crack of someone apparating reverberated around the kitchen and startled James much more than he would’ve liked.

            “But that would take all the fun out of it, Prongsie.” James rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Sirius turned around and began to rifle through the cupboards, glancing back to say to James, “what would your life be like if I wasn’t here to spice things up?”

            James caught the paprika Sirius threw at him and rolled his eyes, unable to hide a grin.

            “You prick.” Placing the spice back into the cabinet, James ran a hand through his hair.

            “Where’s Sage?” asked Sirius, looking behind James, at the empty hallway off the kitchen.

            “Garden,” said James simply. Padfoot nodded, leaning on the counter once more. James joined him, asking, “you come from the Order?”

            “Yea.” An image flashed in Sirius’ mind and he sucked on his tongue. There was something bothering him-- something big. Something important and dangerous. But he wasn’t sure. And this wasn’t something to tell James, or anyone, about until he was absolutely certain. But all the signs, though subtle, were there.

            “You alright?” James’ brow furrowed as he stared at Sirius.

            “Just thinking.”

            “That’s never good.”

            “Sod off, Potter.” Sirius smirked, shoving his brother playfully. James grinned. Crossing his arms, Sirius drummed his fingers on his side, hitting his ribs softly.

            “I live here.”

            “You can still sod off.”

            James laughed, his head falling back. He wrapped his thumbs in his belt loops, back leaning against the wood of the cabinets. His head turned to look at Sirius, “do you wanna do something?”

            “Nah.” Sirius could hear himself speak, and he felt the way his face scrunched up as he spoke nonchalantly, but he wasn’t really there. He hovered in his mind, where ideas were turning into theories and brewing, _boiling_.

            _Shit._ Should he tell James? Fuck, even if he wasn’t sure, he should tell _someone_ , right? And who better than his brother? But he didn’t want to worry him. And James would probably just tell him it wasn’t true.

            “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” James’ back straightened and he looked at Padfoot seriously. “I know you’re ‘just thinking’, but... what about?”

            Sirius’ face hardened as he looked James right in the eye.

            “I think there’s a spy in the Order.”


	52. Fifty-Two

            James stiffened. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but this was not it. Any semblance of a smile on his face vanished as he heard Sirius’ tone of voice.

            Realistically, James knew the possibility of there being a spy was legitimate, but he would’ve never imagined.  

            “Wha--” All of James’ vocabulary left him as he stroked his chin worriedly. A second passed as he watched Sirius carefully, then said the only word he could remember. “ _Why_?”

            Sirius crossed his arms, his face seemed to shrug while his shoulders sat still.

            “There’s nothing... big.” Suddenly, as he tried to explain himself, he regretted saying anything. “Subtle things.”

            “Like what?” James looked Sirius over. He had the posture of a boy kicking dirt out of sad frustration.

            Forcing himself not to say something dumb (like his first instinct - “dunno”), Sirius swallowed and spoke slowly. “They’ve been a lot more confident lately, and they knew exactly where we were going to show up at Luxinton-- and yeah, it could’ve been a coincidence, but…”

            “That’s it?” James’ hand fell from his chin, his muscles tensing.

            “And there’s something Bellatrix said to me last ti--”

            “Hold on,” James held out his hand, squinting at Sirius while craning his neck weirdly. “And you believed her?”

            “I don’t trust her. Not in the slightest. But what she said…” Sirius shifted his weight and let out a breath. “I just... maybe my reasons aren’t the best--”

            “Yeah, they’re pretty shit,” said James frankly.

            “ _But_ , I still... I have a feeling. Things aren’t going to get better from here on out, and I hope I’m wrong. I really do. But... it’s not bad to keep a close eye on things.”

            James didn’t say anything as he looked down at the floor and sucked on his tongue.

            “Just…” Sirius sighed, “for now, keep this between us, alright? I don’t want other people to think I’m fucking crazy. But I trust you, James.”

            “I won’t tell anyone.” James looked back up at Sirius. A door opened across the house as he was about to continue-- Sage. In a rushed whisper, James spoke again. “But you’ve got to trust the other people in the Order. And for now, drop it. Don’t-- And then _I_ said, ‘no, I don’t want any bananas, but this ape sure does!’”

            Sage walked into the room as James tried to make it seem as if they’d been having some other conversation, her and Sirius giving James the exact same confused and shocked look.

            “What the absolute fuck are you two talking about?”

            “Politics.”

            “If you’re going to lie to me, at least make it somewhat good.” With a roll of her eyes, Sage moved to open the cupboard. She looked inside it for a second before she closed it again. “Where are those cookies? Are we out?”

            James stepped away from Sirius to respond. Thoughts ran through his head wildly, but he hid it well. “Yeah, I think you ate the rest of them yesterday.”

            “Really?” Sage clicked her tongue. “Damn. Remind me to get more soon. Also, what are you doing here? I thought I heard someone Apparate in here.”

            Sirius shrugged under Sage’s eyes. He, too, hid the chaos on his mind well. “Eh. Was bored.”

            “Yeah, of course.” Sage shook her head with a chuckle. Her attention moved back to the cupboards. “Do we at least have-- ah!”

            A jar of olives found its way into Sage’s hands as she tried to pry the lid open. She applied a little pressure, and it came off with a pop, only to be set down on the counter. Sage grabbed a fork, stabbed around in the jar, and bit off a pair of olives. As she chewed, the men judged her.

            “Didn’t you come in here for cookies?” asked Sirius. Sage ate another olive before she responded.

            “Yeah. And?”

            “And you’re eating olives - those are pretty different things.”

            “Its not like I’m eating cookies _and_ olives. I wanted cookies, but olives are fine too. Why are you being so judgey?”

            “I’m not! I’m just saying, you came looking for something sweet, and instead of finding something else sweet, you ate... olives.”

            “Sirius, I’ve watched you eat an ant before.” With another swallow, Sage put the fork down and moved to screw the lid on tight. “Don’t hark on me because I wanted to eat a couple olives one time.”

            Sirius sputtered for a moment before he turned to James with raised eyebrows. James was silent, arms crossed, as he was too busy thinking to bother coming up with banter. After a moment of silence, Sage put the jar into the fridge and moved to leave again.

            “Whatever, I have stuff to do,” she said, waving Sirius off. As she opened the door, James shouted after her.

            “Thank you for not using your dirty fingers to eat olives!”

            After Sage responded with a weak, “yeah,” and the door closed behind her, James turned back to Sirius.

            “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. It’s just hard to believe there could be...” His words faded away from him, prompting him to rub his eyes under his glasses.

            “I don’t want to believe it either-- it’s not like I want there to be a spy. I just think there is. I don’t have evidence, I just feel like something’s wrong.”

            The boys shared looks for a tense moment. What else was there to say? In silence, they turned toward the window, minds busy.

  
            “Hello, people who don’t live here,” said Sage, putting her bag down and pocketing her keys upon entering her living room.

            “Hey, Sage,” a chorus came from the boys on the couch. Sage grinned, plopping onto an armchair and crossing her legs.

            “What’re you all talking about?”

            The boys shared a look. Sirius shrugged at her, “eh.”

            “You lot are supposed to be entertaining.” Rolling her eyes, Sage asked, “where’s James?”

            “Eh.” Sirius shrugged again. Remus hit him with the back of his hand and answered her.

            “He’s in the kitchen. We pressured him into getting us snacks.”

            “Ah,” said Sage, nodding. Peter yawned.

            “Anyway, as I was saying, McGonagall wasn’t _just_ gorgeous when she was younger. She’s still pretty. She’s only, what, forty? She still is a total catch,” said Sirius, addressing Peter. Sage’s brow furrowed, glancing at Remus, who rubbed his eye tiredly.

            “Can’t we all just agree that her husband is undoubtedly lucky?”

            “Yes, but then we lose all the fun of the debate, Remus.”

            “Hey, quick question, what the hell are you all talking about?” Sage leaned forward, tongue between her teeth.

            “Minerva McGonagall. Wormtail says she was a catch when she was younger. I say she still is.”

            “Caught that. But... why?”

            “Dunno. Oooh,” Sirius lost his train of thought as James walked back into the room.

            “I come bearing snacks,” said James, arms full. “Hey Sage.”

            “Did you bring-- yeahhh,” Sage grabbed a bag of crisps from James, munching on its contents. “Were you participating in this weird-ass conversation about McGonagall?”

            “We aren’t talking about Dumbledore anymore?”

            Sage rolled her eyes.

            It was later, when Sage and Sirius moved into the kitchen to put almost-empty snack bags away (most of the bags had been emptied), when she heard him whisper under his breath. Straining her ears, she quickly realized he wasn’t talking at all-- in fact, he was singing softly, a song she hadn’t heard before.

            But, as soon as it had started, he stopped. Sage, resisting the urge to pout, put another bag up and away.

            His voice started again, but this time it sung a song she knew. She spun to face him, eyes wide. He was already looking at her, leaning against the counter with a look that told her he knew exactly what he was doing.

            “ _Oh, I could hide ‘neath the wings_

_“Of the bluebird as she sings,_

_“The six-o’clock alarm would never ring.”_

            _Daydream Believer_ was a song he _knew_ she’d know. It wasn’t _just_ a Monkees song-- Davy Jones had done most of the vocals.

            “ _But six rings and I rise,_

_“Wipe the sleep out of my eyes,_

_“The shaving razor’s cold and it stings.”_

            Sage watched him as he continued to sing, stepping closer to her, grinning as he took her hands and forced her to dance with him. Rolling her eyes but smiling, Sage compiled, and soon danced along to Sirius’ voice.

            “ _Cheer up sleepy Jean,_

_“Oh, what can it mean to a_

_“Daydream believer and a_

_“Homecoming queen?”_

            A laugh fell from her lips and her head fell back as he attempted to twirl her around, leading her along.

            “ _You once thought of me_

_“As a white knight on his steed,_

_“Now you know how happy I can be._

_“Oh, and our good time starts and ends_

_“Without all I want to spend,_

_“But how much, baby, do we really need?”_

            Something in Sage’s mind said “fuck it” and she started singing along. The shenanigans in the kitchen had turned into a jam session.

            “ _Cheer up sleepy Jean,_

_“Oh what can it mean to a_

_“Daydream believer and a_

_“Homecoming queen?”_

            Voices mixing together, Sage and Sirius sang (a bit too loudly). Sirius didn’t seem to be concerned with how he sounded and let his voice travel through different tones and octaves just because.

            “ _Cheer up sleepy Jean,_

_“Oh, what can it mean to a_

_“Daydream believer and a_

_“Homecoming queen?_

_“Cheer up sleepy Jean,_

_“Oh, what can it mean to a_

_“Daydream believer and a_

_“Homecoming queen?”_

            For the last verse, the two of them sang even louder and more ridiculously, grins on both their faces.

            _“Cheer up sleepy Jean,_

_“Oh what can it mean to a_

_“Daydream believer and a_

_“Homecoming queen?_

_“Cheer up sleepy Jean.”_

            James, Peter, and Remus stood in the doorway as they finished, all smiling. Sirius grinned at them, ignoring the raised eyebrows. “You two are fucking weird.”

            “Shove off, James.”

            Remus rolled up his sleeves, staring straight ahead at the door ahead of them, wand in his spare hand. He brushed his hair out of his eyes (it was starting to get longer-- he needed to get it cut soon) and glanced over at Sage and Alice. The latter was cracking her knuckles, loosening her joints in preparation. The former twirled her wand in her fingers, staring right back at him with humor in her eyes.

            “You weirdo,” she said, free hand gesturing to his arms. “Wearing a long-sleeved shirt. It’s August.”

            “There’s a chill.” Remus shrugged, smiling despite the circumstances. Sage looked him over again.

            “You look like... a professor. But a young professor. Like a freshly-out-of-school professor who has students older than he is.”

            Rubbing his eye, Remus sighed, “I think we’re getting off topic.”

            “Eh,” said Sage, shrugging. “Whatever, _Professor Lupin_.”

            “Sage…”

            “See, you said my name like how McGonagall would when she got really tired of someone’s shit.”

            Remus gave her a look which made her hold up her hands in surrender. She was really absorbing too much of James.

            “You two ready?” Alice asked, already in a fighting stance. Both Remus and Sage let their amused faces fall into stone, standing straighter as they nodded at Alice.

            The familiar tingle went through Remus’ spine - the tingle he got when he was just about to step into a battle. It was like a wave rushing through him, to wash away any part of him that wasn’t serious. He needed to be totally aware of the danger he was in to fight well. Unlike Sirius and James, he wasn’t helped by making jokes while he fought (after and before were fine, but humor distracted him too much to be safe).

            Remus hung to the right, Sage the middle, and Alice the left. The three of them walked down what used to be a majestic entryway, shrouded in a dark veil. Black marble floor swirled below their feet, steps echoing around the room. On far-away walls, paintings of things not visible whispered.

            Mind taking in every detail, every noise, Remus used the light of his wand to ensure he wouldn't step on anything. The glow reflected off of the marble floor.

            Just as he took another step, a sudden action stopped him. A bright light flew towards them, only to curve upwards and hit the chandelier they were almost under. With a snap and a resounding bang, the hanging glass fixture fell, shattering the second it touched the floor. Glass scattered across marble, pieces brushing against Remus’ shoes.

            The three Order members stared into the darkness, wands raised in attempts to light up the thick darkness which housed their threat. Remus’ heart beat in his ears, still startled from the sudden falling of the chandelier.

            “Show yourself!” Alice shouted into the dark. The only response to her strong and assertive voice was a chuckle which bounced around the room, off walls and down three spines in shivers.

            Alice glanced at Remus, wand held tight. She opened her mouth once more, but the owner of the deep chuckle spoke.

            “Where’s the fun in that?” A dark and menacing masculine voice spoke with a deadly humor. Their words did not echo, but instead shot straight at the three, passing through them and vanishing as if they had never been spoken.

            “Lumos maxima!” Alice shot a ball of light into the air to illuminate the long and wide corridor. At the opposite end stood two men, shrouded in black cloaks, who attempted to find the most dimly lit spot to stand.

            “Like cockroaches,” said Sage under her breath. “Hang in dark, but the second the light is turned on, they scurry.”

            Remus glanced from her back down to the men, who seemed to have given up in their attempts to hide. They stood together, wands out, slowly approaching the three of them. Jaw tensing, Remus’ eyes darkened as he let out a breath and prepared himself.

            An incantation sat on his tongue as he drew his wand back in the beginnings of a flick when the light Alice had supplied went out. Whispering a curse under her breath, Alice hurried to cast it again. The only light in the room was that from the illuminated tip of Sage’s wand. She held it high, cutting through the darkness slightly, shining onto her face dimly.

            The first syllable fell from Alice’s lips as another light appeared, a red jet shooting from the other side of the room. It reflected against the marble floor as it flew, shining a trail of light as it passed, heading right at the only person the Death Eaters could see - Sage.  

            Remus saw it all. Sage noticed the light out of the corner of her eye and turned away from Alice. It was already halfway to her, and she hurried to block it. Waving the light at the tip of her wand out and casting a protection spell as quick as she could, she took a step back to steady herself and her quick movements. And Remus watched the red zip through the air and hit her, the protection spell milliseconds too late.

            Most of all, Remus watched the red light cloud around her torso before it faded away, plunging them into darkness once more. Through the darkness, a scream, louder than any he’d ever heard before, pierced the air. Like knives in his ears, Sage’s scream was one of true suffering. He didn’t know what she was feeling, but through the screams, he could tell he didn’t want to. His stomach fell and his heart beat fast and heavy. The urge to rush to Sage’s side could only be overshadowed by his need to impair those who attacked her.

            Alice hurried to illuminate the room once more and another white light shot into the air, hanging like a sun, reflected against the black marble. The two men at the end of the room had not moved. One had his wand in the air, pointed at Sage.

            She was writhing on the floor, cheeks shining, screaming. She either she didn’t notice or didn’t care about the glass around her. Shards embedded themselves into her skin as she rolled around, creating micro cuts.

            Then, as quickly as it had began, the screaming stopped when Remus sent a curse at the caster. Sage’s body untensed and her screams quieted, replaced by the shouts of spells. She lay on her side, curled into a ball, wand beside her. Her arm on the ground sat away from her other against her stomach, its fingers twitching randomly. Remus shot spells at the two men as he worked his way over to her, kneeling beside her, ignoring the glass cutting into his knees.

            He placed a hand on her shoulder and shouted another spell before looking down quickly. Her cheeks were stained with tears, eyes screwed shut, as a sob escaped her. Remus didn’t know what to do, but rolled her onto her back and brushed a glass fragment off of her cheek.

            His stomach stirred. Anger bubbled up inside of him, creating a rage he didn’t know he had. Something awful glinted in his eyes as he fought back. Before, he wanted to stop them to stop Sage’s suffering. Now, he wanted to make them pay.

            Form perfect, Remus felt his face harden and jaw clench. He walked through time like molasses and stood, ready to make his way down the hall to fight the men. If they were anyone else, he would be upset and worried he was being too cruel. But they weren’t regular people, so he didn’t care.

            It had only been a minute or two since the chandelier fell. Remus stepped forward again, but a hand placed on his shoulder stopped him. Alice was silent but communicated what she needed. Remus had no choice but to stop and kneel next to Sage again.

            Remus, left hand on Sage’s shoulder, grabbed Alice’s hand with his right, their grips on each other strong. In a crack, the three of them were gone. Glass covered marble was replaced by the wood of the Order’s front room and warm air took the place of cool.

            Sage’s eyes snapped open and she gasped in air as if she hadn’t drawn breath since she was first struck. Her hand reached out and grabbed Remus’ arm as he began to withdraw it, fingers wrapping around his wrist. His own eyes scanning hers, Remus attempted to see what she needed.

            She sat up, causing Remus to fall back to sitting on his heels. Letting go of his arm, she placed both hands on the floor in attempts to steady herself, breathing slowly as she looked around the room.

            Alice glanced over the two of them before heading into the meeting room, leaving them alone. Silence fell over them as the door at the end of the hall opened and closed.

            “I’m sorry.” Remus’ jaw was still tight. He didn’t know what to say, really. Words left him as he tried to get the sound of her screams out of his head.

            Turning her head to look at him, Sage wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and narrowed her eyes at him, confused. “Why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything.”

            “Yeah.” He fought the urge to add, “ _not enough_.”

            Through the silence, Sage watched him glance at the window into the darkness of night.

            “You couldn’t’ve done anything.” Though she reassured him, this only served to his guilt. She should’ve been the one being comforted, not him. “It wasn’t done by your hand.”

            “It doesn’t matter now.” Shaking his head, Remus decided his words weren’t the best in the moment and leaned closer, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

            Her hands gripped at the material of his shirt as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck. He couldn’t see her, but he felt the way she held onto him and how her chest shook slightly, and as much as he tried not to, he thought.

            He thought about how he’d failed her. She’d done so much for him, and what had he done in return? Let her be tortured? He should’ve done more. He wasn’t helping her.

            He’d failed James. As a brother, as a friend, and as someone he trusted. James wasn’t there to protect her when she needed it, and so it had fallen to Remus. But he’d failed.

            These thoughts and too many more swirled inside him as he hugged her, both things cut off by the door opening again. The two of them only pulled away enough to see who it was - both presumed Alice.

            Alice was indeed returning, but she came behind a quickly-advancing James, headed right to Sage. The emotion on his face Remus recognized - he looked the same every time Sirius told them something his mother had done.

            Remus pulled away from Sage and James quickly slipped beside him and pulled Sage into his arms.

            Standing silently, Remus ignored the pain in his knees and looked over Sage. Glass had created small cuts in her clothes and exposed flesh, droplets of blood peeking out from behind ripped skin. She still shook, although only slightly, and she held onto James even harder than she had him - her knuckles turned white as they grasped at his shirt.

            Faint whispers came from them as James spoke words of comfort only she could really hear. Remus looked away. Alice stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed and lips pursed. He nodded to her, swallowing and adjusting his sleeves that fell away from the neat rolls he’d placed at his elbows.

            “We’ve got to go back,” said Sage, suddenly. She’d pulled away from James, her face hard. Remus and Alice shared a look.

            “We’ve got to go back,” she repeated, as if they hadn’t heard her. “We were there for, what, two minutes? We didn’t get what we needed at all and--”

            “Sage, hold on,” Alice stepped closer, holding out a hand. “You just had the most cruel and brutal curse known to wizardkind performed on you. You’re staying here.”

            “I can still fight-- you need me to help--”

            “Sage, you’re staying here.” With a hard look and a firm voice, Alice shut her down. “That’s final. We can find someone else.”

            “Alic--”

            “Sage, you’re not out of commission, alright? It’s just for tonight.” Ignoring Sage’s protests, Alice continued, “go home. Hug your husband. Pet a cat. Eat some cheesecake. You aren’t coming back out there with us.”

            Obviously annoyed, Sage itched her elbow. A piece of glass fell to the ground with a soft ‘ _ping_ ’ as Alice raised her eyebrows as a challenge. When the Hufflepuff stay silent, Alice turned on her heel, walking back into the meeting room.

            Sage mumbled various angry things under her breath the second the door closed, glaring at the ground. James put his hand on her shoulder and let out a breath through his nose.

            “Let’s go home, yeah?” he asked, starting to stand. Sage bit her lip, taking his hand and standing, leaning on him.

            “That was shitty,” she said, glancing at Remus. He nodded.

            “Quite.”

            “I don’t quite fancy being tortured.”

            “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

            Sage was silent for a couple seconds before she nodded once and looked at James, “I think cheesecake sounds iffy, but I’m up for cookies. You?”

            “Cookies sound lovely. As long as we don’t get flour everywhere again.”

            “James, I was just tortured, stop lecturing me.”

            “Sa-- I’m sorry.”

            Flashing Remus a grin, Sage told him, “I think I’ve found a way to get out of things.”

            “Ah, well, at least something good came out of today,” said Remus, smiling back at her. With a wave, they disapparated, leaving him alone.

            He picked bits of glass from his knees and held them in his hand. Drops of blood littered the glass, stark red against transparent shine.

            Sage really was turning too much into James. But at least, like him, she was able to get through hard times using humor. That would be really useful for the coming years.

  
            “What’re you gettin’?” A heavy American accent came from the mouth of the man behind the counter. He held a toothpick between his teeth, sitting there with no purpose other than he wanted to chew on something.

            Sirius shrugged, blinking slowly before asking, “what ‘cha got?” His accent suddenly felt very... _there_ , not like it had a few seconds ago, when he spoke to James. He hadn’t _had_ an accent then. But as he responded to the man with the heavy 5 o’clock shadow, he sounded... British.

            “Anythin’, really.” The man drew out the ‘e’ of the ‘really’ so it sounded more like ‘reeeallee’. Sirius didn’t even notice his head tilt. Shrugging, he added, “got a book.”

            Sitting up from his relaxed position, the man reached underneath the wood of the counter, pulling out a book thicker than his head. It was slammed on the counter and opened in the blink of an eye, the man’s thick and yellowed index finger flipping through the pages. Every one had multiple designs on them, showing off what all tattoos they’d done in the past.

            “Reckon you aren’t much of a butterfly sort’a flella,” he said, flipping past the pretty blues and pinks of the insect’s wings. Sirius had a sudden urge to get a butterfly just to spite the man. “Nawh, what you’re lookin’ for’s more... here we are.”

            Sirius looked at the flaming skull, hand on his chin. His eyes flickered between the drawing and the man, over his tattoos-- one on his arm of a tree, a bird (eagle?) peeking out the collar of his shirt, beak going up his neck... Sirius guessed the man had his own flaming skull, perhaps on his back.

            “No,” said Sirius after pretending to consider. He stared off into the distance, at the stain on the white ceiling of the tattoo parlour’s front room. “I’m thinking something…”

            “Why don’t you get another stag, mate? Can’t go wrong there,” said James with a smirk, leaning on a wall behind the dog. Sage hit him with the back of her hand, rolling her eyes and smiling.

            “Shove off, Potter.” Sirius bit his tongue, flipping through the pages of the book in front of him. James laughed silently, running a hand through his black hair.

            “What’ve you got already?” asked the man. Sirius looked up and shrugged.

            “There’s the stag, a black sheep, some rune shit, a cow, and some leaves.” Sirius counted them out on his fingers as he said them, purposefully leaving out the design on his hipbone - a wolf and moon that went through the lunar cycle in time with the real moon.

            “Alrigh’,” said the man in a grunt. He hadn’t come up with any ideas, so he asked, “Do you know where ya want it?”

            “Dunno. Arm, maybe.” Sirius shrugged again, the man scratching his head.

            “Why don’t you get something for Peter? Like some cheese or somet--”

            “Holy shit, Sage, I should get cheese. Fuck.” Sirius pulled up his sleeve and pointed to his bicep, looking the man in his eyes and saying, “Cheese.”

            “...alright.” The man closed the book and put it under the counter again. “Hold on a second,” he said, standing and disappearing into the back. It didn’t take long for him to reappear and it wasn’t long after that when Sirius had needles piercing into his skin.

            And so, later that day, Sirius sat on the Potter’s couch, grinning at the triangle of cheese on his arm. And Peter only rolled his eyes once when he saw, otherwise just looking at the ink with a grin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I know I haven't added any notes for a while but this one is just to say 1.) sorry about there being a few day-late updates recently, college is hard and I barely have time to think and sometimes I forget. 2.) Peter Tork, one of the Monkees, died today (2-21-19) and on behalf of Sage and all other Monkees fans, :( . If I had the time, I'd go back & watch some of the old show. Peter was always the sweetest one, I think. Sucks, man. :( At least he's with Davy now, I guess. ANYWAY have a good day :)


	53. Fifty-Three

            The crisp air of a late September night swirled around on a breeze, twisting around trees and houses and up into the sky. A dark, dark blue sky hovered, feeling less _above_ than _around_. Nature was living that night, breathing. With every gust of wind, the Earth exhaled.

            It was a night made for _being_. Yes, it would be perfect to sit around a fire and watch embers fly into the starry night sky. Of course, walking through a wood would be divine. But the overarching theme of the night was it screaming ‘do _something_. Do _anything_.’ It took a person by the collar and touched its fingertips to their temple in a manner that reached through right to their brain and turned them restless. The way they should be. It was a night made for _being._

            It had not gotten cold, not yet, though the world around them had fallen into Autumn. The only chill was brought upon the world by the sun falling away from the sky for the night. Perhaps nature was attempting to make up for the last, brutal Winter. Either way, the sun was gone and the moon hung low in the sky, accompanied by billions of tiny white lights, flickering on and off at random. The stars winked at the world, telling a boy in Bedford to ‘ _go for it_ ’ and a girl in Nice ‘ _Si vous jure de voler une étoile du ciel pour elle, nous rendrons à vous afin que vous n'ayez pas menti.’_

            Despite the outside world being a pool begging to be dived into, three young adults left it to go underground.

            Two doors, wood painted in faded red, swung open, thanks to the one remaining handle. A storm shelter sat just below the grass, old and seemingly abandoned. The three young adults climbed down a rope ladder, many of its few rungs broken or missing, into darkness. One of them said a word in a tongue unknown to most and the doors closed. Another spoke in the same tongue, and a light shined over the dark of the underground.

            It was dark, even with the sudden light, and dank. And, although this was to be expected (as it was underground), it was dirty.

            The square room was small and unwelcoming. Carved out of dirt, the room seemed to give off the idea that it shouldn’t be there, like it was a relic from thousands of years past in modern day. A perfectly maintained medieval torture device in the year 2086. It should not’ve been there.

            But the room seemed on the defense, as if it was screaming at the young adults and anyone who dared to enter “ _you_ don’t belong here.”

            The oldest of the young adults, the holder of the lit wand, pointed at the wall directly opposite that which had the ladder running down it. Unlike the other three totally dirt walls, this was made of wood.

            The other two looked at each other with furrowed brows. Seconds ago, when they had looked around the room, all four walls were made entirely of dirt. It had taken their minds a few beats to register the one wall was wooden. The longer they looked, the more obvious it became, until they wondered how they had thought it was anything but wood in the first place.

            The eldest felt a shiver run down her spine as she stepped closer to the wooden wall. She could touch it, if she just reached out her hand a bit… She had always felt at home in the dirt. The underground brought her comfort. But this bunker was far different from the Hufflepuff Basement, where she lived for many years.

            No, where the Hufflepuff Basement was warm, the bunker was cold. Where her home was comforting, this was unwelcoming. Her basement was a reminder of the life earth could bring - it was roots and plants, animals living just below the surface. The bunker was a harsh truth of the duality, making sure she knew exactly what death the earth could hold. Musk and mold and spores and mushrooms, decaying things which once lived. She was told through a slap in the face _‘the earth is where you bury your dead.’_

            The dirt underneath her fingernails suddenly felt like a reminder-- ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’. She used to find the idea of returning to the earth a comfort.

            As the bearer of light, the woman was to lead the way, but she did not know where to go. In front of her was a wooden wall. Yes, it was different from the dirt, but it was still that-- a wall. Solid, a barrier. Like the room was laughing at her, mocking her wish to progress.

            With nothing else to do, she reached out a hand to brush her fingertips along the wood. But her skin didn’t meet the cold. It didn’t feel anything, even when she watched her hand touch the surface. Her fingers went right through the wood.

            “Like the platform,” said the youngest, causing the woman to turn, her hand retreating back from the void behind the false wall, “at King’s Cross.”

            “Yeah.” The woman looked back at the wall and brought her hand to where she could see it. The fingers which had passed through were unchanged, but for some reason, she expected them to have turned black, as if they’d been painted.

            “What do you think’s behind it?” asked the third, his beady eyes reflecting the light from the woman’s wand. He stared at the wood of the wall as if it could tell him the answers to each of his personal dilemmas but refused to say a word.

            “Certain death, most likely.” The words were spoken seriously. In another time, they’d’ve been a joke. Not then. Then, the room seemed to suck all humor out of voices and out of souls. As if the life it lacked, it tried to suction out of those three young adults.

            “No way of knowing,” said the woman, clenching her fist. “Not without just going.”

            “Alice’d tell us to stay back,” said the third, but he had not broken his gaze from the wall. He didn’t care about Alice, he just wanted to go through the wall.

            “Alice isn’t here.” the woman shuffled forward, even closer to the wall. Her breath traveled out through her nose in puffs she envisioned hitting the wood. It sucked it up, like with every exhale of her breath, it took one in. Was it stealing her breathing? She didn’t care-- after all, she’d already used up the air once it left her. She had no use for them. So why did she feel like her lungs hadn’t moved? Why did she feel like the only reason she was breathing was for it?

            “There’s something wrong.” The youngest, the only who hadn’t neared the wooden wall, looked behind himself. Had the ladder been missing that many rungs when he’d climbed down? It seemed to have lost more while he wasn’t watching it. He glanced upward-- why did the wooden doors seem so far away? What was only on the ceiling of a low-hung room was suddenly meters above.

            “Something’s wrong.” He looked at the woman and the third. Both were only a hair’s breadth away from the wood, staring at it as if they could see through into a world unlike their own. The woman inched her hand upwards, about to touch the wood again.

            “Sage?” He called for his wife, her hand pausing. She glanced back at him, brow furrowed. She looked like she always did, unlike how he expected. He’d envisioned her turning around and her eyes being empty. Dark caves of flesh started at him. But this-- it was just her.

            “What’s wrong, James?” she asked, hand falling to her side. The light from her wand created shadows on the dirt walls of the third, standing just as he was in the light.  

            “I don’t-- something feels… wrong.” He swallowed and fidgeted, unable to stand still as an anxiety ran through him. “I don’t think we should go that way.”

            “Why not?” she asked, turning away from the wood and standing in place. Beside her, the third cracked his knuckles, looking around at the other walls. “It seems to be the only place to go.”

            “Yeah, _seems to be_.” He swallowed. The wall stared at him. It was an adult and he a child, trying to tell another adult what the wall’d done wrong while it stood by with a raised brow and condescending scoffs. He was tattling on someone while that someone watched.

            The youngest closed his eyes and shook his head. _It’s a wall_ , he reminded himself. _Walls can’t see and they can’t judge._ Even as he thought it, he felt wrong.

            “Like how that seemed to be a wall and nothing else. Maybe we’ve just got to look. There’s some dark magic here-- I know you feel it--”

            The woman gave him a soft look. “It’s a wall, lovely.” The certainty in her voice almost made him agree. “You can look for other things, but... this seems the way to go.”

            The youngest didn’t know what to say. This was unlike him-- he was the quick-witted boy, the one who always had a comment on the tip of his tongue. Words didn’t often fail him, and when they did, it was because he didn’t think words could suffice. But then, he knew there _were_ words he could use. But he seemed to have forgotten.

            The third stared at the wood. It was planks, stuck together tightly so it was impossible to see through gaps. But the layer of wood felt much like just that-- a layer. A smokescreen. Like a barrier between what was another plain dirt wall and the bunker. Like it was only for cosmetic reasons, just a decoration built atop dirt. If he could peel off the wood, he’d just be looking at another dirt wall.

            The woman wanted to see behind it. She’d felt it, and she wanted to see. Her fingers still felt black, but she couldn’t find herself caring about what would happen to her if her whole self did the same. She felt the pitch black encompassing her fingers, stopping at a neat line where she hadn’t gone in, and wanted to let the rest of herself be embraced by the void.

            “Sage--” the youngest said the only thing he could think to, just as she turned away from him. He watched, curiosity overtaking the boiling weariness in his stomach, as she took a half-step forward and let herself stand, cut in half by the wood.

            Behind the wood was not another dirt wall. In fact, it seemed to be an extension of the bunker room, just as dark and dank. The woman shined her light ahead, where dirt walls continued, and squinted. This area smelled far more musty. It was the smell of fungus. But the dirt walls were bare, and the floor clean of anything. Nothing grew in the room, despite her feeling as if it were full of mushrooms and spores and the part of gardening she always disliked.

            The youngest was calling her name, but she didn’t hear. Sound stopped at the wood and wouldn’t go any further. An arm and a leg were still with him, along with some of her torso, and he stepped closer, wanting to be near her. The way her limbs and body came out of the wall reminded him of a statue. Some weird modern art-- titled _‘Girl Walks Through Wooded Dimensions’_ or something similar.

            Her squint narrowed as she stared at the ground. Was there something there? She felt like there was something she just couldn’t see. Like she had the wrong prescription lenses covering her eyes. But instead of letting her see clearly, the right lenses would let her see reality. There was something there, and she couldn't--

            “Oh God,” she gasped, falling back. She’d seen it, and she wished she hadn’t.

            “What?” asked the youngest, supporting his wife. She grasped onto his shoulder and stared at the ground, eyes unblinking.

_Are they in here, too?_ She asked herself, though she quickly realized she didn’t want to know the answer if it was ‘yes’.

            “Oh God,” she repeated, as if it were a prayer. It would be fitting, considering the word choice. But she didn’t believe in a God. “Oh no.”

            “What did you see?”

            “We can’t go that way.”

            “Why?” The youngest touched the arm holding his shoulder and tried to get her to look at him, but she just stared blankly at the ground. All she could see was black.

            The woman pictured what she’d just seen. A chill ran up her skeleton, travelling down her bones which now felt eerily black. The void wasn’t comforting anymore.

            “Because people have tried that before and they never left.”

            The room delved into a silence unlike most. There was no background noise of breathing, of birds singing, of wind passing, of refrigerators humming. It was silent, totally and completely, and unwelcome.

            “What?” The youngest looked his wife in the eye as she blinked, no longer transfixed on the floor.

            She said something too quiet for him to hear, the only thing audible, “-- _so small_.”

            “What?” This seemed to be the only word he could remember, along with, “Sage?”

            “There was a set,” she said, as if she were repeating herself (James supposed she was), “so much smaller than the others.”

            Just as he began to ask, “of what?” she continued, staring him in his eyes. Her bright green was dimmer, but still, green met hazel.

            “A child’s-- the others were adults, teenagers, but one stood out. One of the skeletons was a child’s.” She had tears in her eyes and her voice began to break, “they were so small, James. I can’t even imagine--”

            “Shhh,” said the youngest, in a desperate attempt to calm her. He pulled her into his arms and glanced at the wall over her shoulder. It took him a second to see the wood. It had turned back into dirt for him, only for a moment.

            “So if we don’t go this way,” said the third, still looking at the wood. It seemed to whisper to him, calling him in. _‘I can make you brave,_ ’ it said, voice like wind passing through the mouth of a snake. A mix of a hiss and a breeze. _‘I can make you brave, just like James, like Sirius, like Remus._ ’ He was having a hard time tuning it out. “--where do we go? There has to be something down here.”

            “Another wall,” said the bearer of light (although said light was aimed at the ground). “If there’s something like that behind one wall, maybe it’s to distract from another. To draw away from the right path.”

            “A false suggestion.”

            The wall preyed on people’s gut feelings. It changed instincts, made those who enter think ‘ _I’ll go with what I feel is right_ ’ without hesitation, because they trusted themselves. But curses had the power to do things like that-- make you think the decision you made was your own.

            “Which one is the right one?” asked the youngest, his wife stepping away from him to wipe her dry eyes. The wood had vanished again, but he hadn’t noticed. “Which one is the least likely for someone to choose?”

            “I dunno. We can eliminate going forwards and going backwards,” said the oldest, pointing her wand at each wall as she said it. “So we’re left with right and left.”

            “An age-old riddle, I suppose.” The third finally drew himself away from the wooden wall and looked between the two. “Well, if we’re going for most likely to be ignored, we’ve got to go left. Most people’s natural instinct is to turn right, for multiple reasons. Left is an afterthought. And it could be a metaphor, to say what people think is ‘right’ isn’t the correct way.”

            “Peter’s right. We go left, figure out--” the youngest had turned to the left wall, looking at the dirt. But it was no longer dirt-- it had changed into brick. Dark red brick, with concrete holding it together the colour of sand. He stared at it and thought of the chimney on his childhood home.

            “James?” the oldest stepped closer to her husband as the third watched them curiously. “What is it?”

            “It’s-- it’s brick,” he said, pointing at the wall. The eldest squinted her eyes at the dirt wall. She couldn’t see anything but the dark brown of-- she’d blinked. It wasn’t gradual, like the wood had been. The wall hit her - ironically enough - like a ton of bricks. One second, it was all brown, just dirt mushed together, then it was neatly placed brick. And just like the wood, it seemed like a layer atop a dirt wall, like a sticker they could peel off to reveal the truth.

            “There’s something wrong.” The same words from the youngest’s mouth came from that of the third. “There’s something wrong with that wall.”

            “Peter, you said it yourself, this is the right way to go. Brick must mean good.” The eldest gestured to the wall as if she were getting impatient.

            “Don’t you see? It’s happening again-- there’s probably a pool of sharks behind the bricks or something! The wood trapped you, and if you didn’t fall for that, you get stuck in the cement between bricks!” The third pulled on the youngest’s arm, “James, come on!”

            “Peter, I don’t have a bad feeling about this one.” The youngest shrugged off the hand on his arm, “you’re wrong.”

            The oldest and the youngest both felt a pull from this wall. It felt like home. The woman had felt curiosity and fear towards the wood, but the brick just made her feel right. It was laid down in a homely manner, that which felt like the side of a cottage in an open wood, where children played and birds sang with no threat from predators.

            The oldest snapped out of it. The third was right-- the room was tricking them again. Left was not the right way.

            So she pulled on her husband’s arm, ignoring the confused look he gave her, and turned to the right wall. It was dirt, just as the other three walls had turned back into.

            “So it is right, all along?” she asked, glancing at the third. He nodded. All three stared at the dirt, waiting for it to change.

            “It’s the only option left.” the third watched the wall, the youngest unblinking. The eldest glanced to her right, back at the ladder they’d come from. An idea flashed in her head, and she turned away from the right wall to see the one they’d given the label of ‘behind’.

            “James, Peter--” she said, just as they both began to see the wall change. The eldest didn’t see it. She felt wrong. This was the right way, all along. How clever-- people never thought of turning back when they’d just begun a grand adventure.

            “What?” said the youngest, furrowed brows trying to figure out what the wall was made of. It was shiny, like it was covered in a glaze, and a grey colour... his wife’s wand wasn’t creating a glare off the shining coating, but he didn’t notice.

            “It’s this way. We have to go back.” Stepping closer to the ladder, the eldest wondered why, if this was the correct way, they hadn’t bumped through the wall while climbing down the ladder. She’d brushed up against the dirt wall, even kicked it, but it was solid. Perhaps she was wrong, and it _wasn’t_ behind them. Maybe, this wall was the only one truly a wall, made from dirt.

            “I dunno, Sage. Why would we turn back? This is more right than going back.” The third didn’t look away from the glaze. He could see himself in the reflection-- he was distorted, but the closer and longer he looked, the clearer he got. The image, the version of himself there, was different than how he remembered it being. But that was him, most definitely. But his nose seemed straighter... his face, thinner... his eyes had much more depth... oh, and his teeth, he noticed, as he smiled at his reflection for what felt like the first time, were no longer crooked. They sat in a neat line, all together the way they were supposed to be. He was handsome. And his nose was almost pressed up against the wall.

            “Peter, James, come on--” with one hand, she’d yanked on the third’s sleeve, pulling him away. Her husband, head tilted, stared into the wall as if he was watching something.

            The eldest, with the third behind her, reached out her hand to brush against the only wall that hadn’t changed. It would be solid, she knew it-- there was no way it wouldn’t be. She’d already felt it, before, when she was on the ladder--

            Her fingers went through. She pulled them out quickly, looking back at the two men behind her. Her husband glanced over, seemingly wanting to join. He kept glancing back at the other wall, like a child who needed to go to bed but didn’t want to stop watching television.

            “James, come on,” she said, holding out her hand for him to take. He gave the wall one last look before taking her hand, trying to memorize the exact way his son’s face looked (so much like him - except for his nose, slightly different. For a few seconds, James thought he was looking in a mirror, a bit distorted. But then he realized his reflection had his eyes closed. So he thought he was dead. But then he’d opened his eyes, and green met hazel in a whole new way. James really didn’t want to look away.)

            “I don’t know what the fuck is up with this place, but I want to get out of here.” With a flick of her wand, the light got brighter. She took in a breath, sticking her face into the dirt. It passed through with no issue.

            This wasn’t a separate room. It was more of a _building_. She could see, even without her wand being through the dirt with her, a hole in the ceiling. The floor ahead of her, no longer dirt, but dark wood, opened out onto a balcony, railing peering over the floor below. It was a beautiful place, she assumed, once. But it was old, and a dark presence lingered there, so the only feeling of awe was that of ‘this used to be lovely’.

            Sage fell out of the wall, suddenly back in the dirt room with her husband and Peter. James was glancing back at the right wall, but turned to her when she came back.

            “Skeletons?” he asked, half expecting her to say something along the lines of “oh, no, it was _much_ worse. I’m cursed now. Dying in a few days, until which I will suffer immensely, and will not be able to be remedied. And, if I beg for the release of death, you’ll try to give it to me, and through the tears, you’ll realize that all that did was make it worse. I can’t die. Eternal suffering. Neat!”

            “No,” she said. James took in a breath. “It’s just… a nice house. Well, it’s old, but... nice.”

            “Sinister?” asked Peter, peering over her shoulder at the dirt. She shook her head.

            “Only a little. But I figure that’s just because of Death Eaters and such.”

            Peter nodded and grabbed onto the rope of the ladder, ready to pull it away so he could pass through the wall.

            “You cursed?” asked James, gripping onto her hand tighter. She tilted her head and squinted at the ceiling.

            “Not that I know of,” she said. “But I probably picked up _something_ when I poked half of my fucking body through that monstrosity.” Her wand pointed at the opposite wall, that which made her bones feel black (they still felt so. Not that before her bones _felt white_ , but then, she could tell - there was something different).

            Peter nodded, holding out a hand to go through the dirt wall as he took a step forward, only to be met with hard earth. His hand pat the ground awkwardly and he sucked on his tongue, glancing to Sage.

            “You literally just did this,” he said, sounding more like a question. “How the hell am I doing this wrong?”

            “I dunno,” said Sage, brow furrowing. She let go of James’ hand, reaching out to touch the dirt.

            “Wait,” she said, just before her fingers made contact with the cold earth, glancing at Peter’s other hand. “Let go of the ladder.”

            Peter’s face lit up in recognition, his hand falling away from the rope, letting it clink against the dirt as it settled again.

            “Try again,” said Sage, uselessly, as Peter had already began to reach out for the wall again. His hand went through.

            “Hey! There we go--” said Peter, glancing at the two of them before leaving the dirt prison. Sage and James followed behind him, hands intertwining again (James was unbelievably worried about Sage. If _being near_ the walls had done such things to him, who knows what _passing through_ meant for her).

            Getting out of the room was... freeing. A weight was lifted off of them they hadn’t known was there in the first place. The doubt, the fear, the uncertainty, all of the feelings they’d had in the bunker were gone. Their bodies seemed to remember they were out on a mission for the Order and not trapped in a room.

            “Fuck, why does it feel like 30 years just passed?” asked Sage in a whisper, glancing at James. He took in a breath as if his true self was reentering his body.

            “Dunno. How do we know what 30 years feels like when none of us are even 20 yet?” he whispered back, a precaution to the possibility that they weren’t alone. A smile stretched onto his lips ( _fuck_ , it felt like he was using muscles he hadn’t in _forever_. He’d smiled just before they went underground, but _shit_ , he’d forgotten how it felt).

            “Because we all love to exaggerate. Dunno.” Sage smiled back at him, hoping her smile made him feel as lovely as his did her (it did).

            The hole in the ceiling was a window into the night sky. The darkest shades of blue with sprinkles of stars peeked into the open area, down onto the first floor (subbasement? The whole building was underground, so wouldn’t the ‘second floor’ really just be a basement? Eh, it didn’t matter).

            “What kind of spell do you think made that?” asked Sage, nodding to the hole. It obviously wasn’t from natural causes - it had blown out, not fallen in. And, based on the people who would’ve lived there, it was easy to figure out what the hole had been caused by - a spell. A nasty one at that, most likely a curse.

            “Dunno. Looks like it came from the floor below. But it’s old,” said James, noticing the worn edges of the hole and the way the area below it looked (faded by years of sunlight and eroded by decades of rain. The floor sagged around the part of the balcony underneath it, where, most likely, snow and rain water had pooled).

            “Backfired curse, maybe?” Sage glanced away from the hole at James. He met her gaze and shrugged. She took in a breath, straightening her posture. “Whatever. We have things to do.”

            The house, if it could be called such, was _old_. Dust hung in heavy air, floating around and coating the tops of everything. Bugs skittered across the wood floor and along the weathered walls, a reminder that they were indeed underground.

            It was cold and quiet, and, as they soon discovered, barren. The top floor had multiple rooms one could naturally assume were once bedrooms, but were mostly empty. Aside from the occasional broken wooden bed frame, the rooms seemed like they were brand new and thousands of years old at the same time.

            There were, however, small signs that people had once lived there. A moth-eaten teddybear, scratches on the wall where the height of children had been marked, many years ago. The names attached to the lines were those of stories, names like ‘ _Gwenhwyfar_ ’ and ‘ _Postumus_ ’. Whoever these people were, they were _old_ and had too many fucking kids _._

            There were no windows and the ceilings were low, every surface made out of stone, making each room seem less like rooms and more like boxes. Boxes in a dungeon, perhaps. It did feel quite like a prison.

            Sage, as she walked through the few rooms, kept herself from falling into utter boredom by stringing together a story of the people who lived there. She decided they were from the 1600s, magical people fleeing the danger of those who feared them. They’d built an underground home, so their children would have someplace to grow.

            In her mind, the place used to be innocent. New ownership was the reason for the horrid bunker and the aura surrounding the whole of the underground.

            She pictured little girls running around, wanting to go outside but knowing they could not, and stepped out of the room closest to the stairs. Her thoughts of happy children stopped when she noticed the snake carved into the stone, right next to the door.

            Her fingertips brushed over it, the design no bigger than her palm, and she felt a chill run down her spine. It was familiar-- she’d seen this exact snake before. The story she came up with faded away and she realized that the family who had once lived here was most likely more similar to the ‘Noble House of Black’ than not. The snake was, quite obviously, the mark of Slytherin.

            “There’s nothing here,” said James, still whispering. “But…” he didn’t have to say it, nodding to the stairs (beautiful mahogany eaten away by bugs and water). Sage let out a breath that told both her companions exactly how much she didn’t want to go that way, but stepped closer anyways.

            Sage led the way, her hand reaching out to touch the bannister she instantly knew was not stable. The light from the hole in the ceiling didn’t reach the stairs, so she shined her wand’s ahead of her so she wouldn’t trip. Behind her, two other lights lit the way for the two boys.

            Her foot immediately realized that the stairs were _much_ steeper than they had seemed, and she tried to grab onto something with her free hand, but all there was to grab was the stone wall. Praying she had enough balance, Sage let her foot touch the wood of the stair, a loud creak coming from it as she put more of her weight on the leg.

            She cringed. _Fuck, that was loud_ , she thought, glancing back at James. _So much for stealth mission_.

            James sucked his tongue, putting out his light. With a wave, he cast a spell onto the floor and gave Sage a thumbs-up. She took a breath, leaning more of her weight onto her foot, expecting the continued creak. But there was nothing but silence.

            A silent sigh of relief escaped her, and she descended into the darkness, wand leading her down the steep, steep steps. It didn’t take long for her to reach the bottom, mahogany wood ending and turning into neat, wooden planks covered in dust.

            The staircase diverged from the stone wall with only a few steps left to go, forcing Sage’s attention left, away from the other wall the staircase would’ve driven into had it not turned. As her feet creaked lightly along the wood of the floor, she looked around the room she ended up in.

            Ahead was another wall, but to her left, the area the upstairs balcony overlooked greeted her, totally bare. The light from the hole in the ceiling showed her the outline of a broken chair in the corner of the room and the rotted wood below the hole, but there was nothing else.

            In the opposite direction, an archway led into another, similar room. Its walls were painted a dark green that had stayed in surprisingly good shape. Sage hadn’t moved from the bottom of the stairs, and waited for the boys to join her. When they did, they also looked around, noticing how empty the place looked.

            James pointed to the far wall, parallel to that which held the archway, and Sage narrowed her eyes. A faded gold frame hung above a fireplace, both of which she hadn’t noticed. Inside the fireplace, a blackness darker than dark stared back at her. The frame, she realized, must’ve been a mirror. It was coated with grime, grey and black and gross, and not at all reflective (she was glad for that, at least, because she figured, based on the other things they’d encountered in the house, that looking into the mirror would not end well for her. She rather wanted to keep her soul, and the mirror probably wanted it just as much).

            A shiver ran down her spine and she looked away. There was a shop in the dark part of Diagon Alley she’d been in once when she was younger. Looking at all those things - the cursed and malicious items - scared her vehemently. The shop specialized in carrying dark items, and this house was the kind of place completely furnished with haunted couches and pictures painted in blood. She figured, since most of the things inside the house were gone, and had to be _somewhere_ \-- most likely, they’d ended up in that shop.

            As much as she didn’t want to turn her back on the mirror now that she was aware of its presence, she needed to investigate further. So she turned, heading towards the archway (it was really quite pretty, with engravings in the wood, swirls and what looked like a crest at the top. She gulped when she realized the swirls were really just snakes and the crest was Slytherin’s).

            To her left, a door opened. Peter had his hand on the handle as he peered into a room Sage wouldn’t’ve noticed on her own (she suddenly felt very unobservant). He stuck his head and wand into the doorway for a few seconds before pulling them out again and closing the door.

            _“Kitchen_ ,” he mouthed to Sage and James. Both nodded, continuing on. Peter wanted to elaborate, tell them, _“it was so clearly for House Elves, all dusty, and it had all the original things in it, like they couldn’t be bothered to think about food when they left,”_ but all three had the feeling, more than before, that they were being watched. The walls were listening, waiting for one of them to speak, to give themselves up.

            Sage neared the archway, dimming her light. It would be quite obvious that she was there if someone saw the light her wand created dancing on the floor, so she squinted in the darkness to see in the room. It was empty, like the rest of the house, and--

            _Oh_ , thought Sage. There was a light.

            It was like this-- the room was rectangular. On one of the longer sides (the longer wall, it should be said), were two archways on either side of the wall, separated evenly, going into two different rooms. These rooms were side-by-side, a wall between them.

            Sage poked her head through the arch on the left that led to the living room. The other archway led to the dining room (though at the moment, Sage didn’t know the names for any of the rooms, as they were all barren) to her right and had just enough of a glow coming from it to be noticeable.

            Pulling her head back, Sage turned to James and mouthed at him some words he couldn’t understand. She gave up trying to repeat herself nonverbally after the fourth time he mouthed “ _what?!_ ” and just spoke in the lowest whisper she could manage.

            “ _There’s a light-- there’s someone here,_ ” she said. James’ face lit up in recognition and hardened as he poked his head into the room, seeing the glow for himself. The pair of them worked together to tell Peter (who had an easier time understanding than James) and all three of them entered the sitting room, pressed up against the wall both the arches stood on.

            They stopped midway between the two arches where the beginnings of the glow on the floor grazed the tips of their feet. Sage went ahead and pressed her body against the wall as much as she could.

            Her feet scuffled silently across the floor, touching the bottom of the wall, as she held her wand tight. She didn’t know what was going to be through the archway, but she knew it wasn’t going to be welcoming. It wouldn’t be a grandmother waiting for her to join her for tea, fresh cookies sitting on a table beside a warm fire. No, Sage had a feeling it would be something more like a snake, already coiled and ready to fight.

            She let out a breath, as quiet as she could manage, and peeked in.

            It was only a second, but she got a good idea of what the room looked like. She could see it all-- a long, rectangular room. At the other end was a fireplace that took up the whole wall, black marble seemingly brand-new, aggressively out-of-place.

            The fireplace was lit, the source of the light, and incredibly large. It wasn’t tall. In fact, she could imagine the flames licking the top of the marble. But it was wide and deep, like she could lay in it, totally stretched out. Or she could crawl into it, and have to shuffle a while before she touched the back of the fireplace.

            It was empty, like all the other rooms, but had a few chairs, wooden and simple, in the middle of it, closer to the fireplace than to her. The chairs were surprisingly modest, especially compared to the gigantic black marble fireplace that most likely cost more than a small island.

            Someone sat on one of the three (three? She had seen three, right? It might’ve been four. Fuck.) chairs. Another person stood facing the fireplace, leaning against the wall.

            Sage glanced back at James and Peter before looking back in the room.

            _Shit_ , she thought, pulling away once more. She was right about where the two people were, but she hadn’t seen the way the person on the chair sat-- with their head lolled to the side, and their hands tied behind their back, where she could see. Whoever the person was, they were in danger.

            “ _James,_ ” she whispered, inching back to him, speaking as quietly as she could. James watched her with concerned eyes, worried after hearing how she sounded so urgent. Sage gestured for him to back up, into the other room, where she could talk in less of a whisper.

            “There’s two of them,” she said, once they’d gathered in the living room, voice soft. “One’s tied up and either unconscious or dead.”

            James almost flinched-- he didn’t like the way the word “ _dead_ ” sounded on Sage’s lips. It was so foreign, and perhaps he was a bit naïve, but he didn’t want her to be associated with things like that. She was the sun, and it was as if she was speaking of darkness. Maybe it was just the way she had said it - so nonchalantly - like she was telling him “it’s raining,” so simple and natural and he didn’t want her so used to the horrors of war. He wanted her to live her life in peace, to not have to deal with all of this-- though he knew she could. Just because she was _capable_ didn’t mean he wanted her to experience it (like, he was sure she could survive through all the blood loss and trauma and such, but he still didn’t want her to chop off an arm).

            “The other person’s just standing around, probably a Death Eater, though I don’t know what they’re doing. They were turned away from me.” Sage continued in a hurried whisper.

            “What’s the light coming from?” asked Peter, fingers gripping his wand tightly.

            “Fireplace.” Sage glanced behind her at the archway, as if the snakes carved into the wood were whispering “ _they’re over here-- come quick-- don’t bother with introductions, just start killing--”_

            Peter nodded, though she didn’t see him. Sage had turned around to head back into the sitting room with her heart pounding in her ears. She didn’t know what the fuck she was doing, but she knew she had to do something.

            “It’s only one,” she whispered, glancing back at them. “We can take them, no problem. Hell, I could take them-- you two back me up. I’ll knock them out, and we rush in to deal with the other, alright?”

            Sage didn’t wait for an answer but let her eyes rake over them for a second as if she had, her mind already made up. She snuck back into the sitting room, body against the wall, and inched closer and closer to the other arch, feet shuffling as fast as she could make them without making too much noise.

            She didn’t think and let her actions do their own thing (a bad idea, really, but as was stated, she wasn’t thinking. If she had been, certainly she would’ve stopped herself). She poked enough of her head into the archway just so one eye could check-- nobody had moved. The man on the wall kicked at the wood at his feet, obviously bored. His guard was down. Good.

            Sage was ready to pounce into the room and cast a spell with her wand already pointed at the Death Eater when he yawned, his head turning to glance at the tied-up man. A chuckle escaped him - a breathy ‘ _that’s pathetic_ ’ chuckle - and he looked at the fireplace. Sage threw her arm back and, like she was cracking a whip, lashed it back, shooting a spell at him, careful to not hit the captive.

            The Death Eater heard the sound the spell made when it erupted from her wand, and turned just in time to watch it fling at them. Their mask hid any expression they made, and they really only glanced behind them before attempting to jump out of the way. But they were a second too slow, and the spell hit them like a ton of bricks, making them fall to the ground in a heap, their wand gripped tight in their hand.

            Looking behind her, Sage gestured for the boys to follow her and stepped into the archway, her wand still out and ready. The room was empty, both bare of furniture (besides the chairs) and of spirit.

            It was reminiscent of the house Sirius grew up in-- a place meant to show off, to have parties. The ‘people live here’ thing came second. The priority for those kinds of places was to keep other people from forgetting how much money they had. Old money loved to show off wealth in the form of ‘quiet’ social functions. Subtlety was key-- don’t buy gigantic diamond necklaces, buy the necklace with the finest of rubies. Have ballgowns for every day of the week.

            Bedrooms were kept tidy and empty, because the illusion of people being ‘too rich to need sleep’ wasn’t one to be shattered. Any sign of actual living was stuffed away and snuffed out.

            But this room - this _place_ \- wasn’t pretending as if nothing lived there. It wasn’t putting off the illusion of emptiness. The giant black marble fireplace stared right at people and _told_ them nothing lived. Elegance, unrefined and unmuted. A sort of slap in the face by a hand in a silk glove.

            Sage hadn’t noticed how clean the room looked. The floor was clear of the dust covering the rest of the house, and the air didn’t have specks of dust floating in it. The fire was small and sat directly on top of the marble, the yellow and orange flames licking the top of the fireplace gently.

            The man tied to the chair was unconscious (thankfully), Sage soon found out, when her fingertips grazed him lightly to find a pulse. His skin was pale, warm, and bloody. Red dripped out of his nose and from cuts on his temple and cheeks. A dark purple bruise on his neck sat like a tattoo, poking down to under the collar of his black shirt, where the trails of blood ran to create shadows of darker dark.

            Whatever this man had been through, he had suffered.

            James used his foot to flip the unconscious Death Eater onto his back. The silver mask he wore shined in the firelight, with slits for eyes and a mouth which seemed stitched up. His cloak sleeve was pulled up on his arm so the Dark Mark tattooed onto his pale skin was visible as it moved around. The snake coming from the skull seemed to look at them and smile, as if it knew something they did not.

            And it did. The snake, moments before, had been used to call more Death Eaters. The man had heard the beginnings of a spell and instinctively brought his wand to his arm, pressing it into the mark there and calling for help.

            He had been there for one reason only-- to call them back. It was his job to wait for the man in the chair to wake up again (nobody could find a way to wake him properly with magic) and yell a bit more while he waited for the others to return.

            _“This is an important job,_ ” he’d been told. The Dark Lord stood by the marble fireplace, staring into the fire. Another Death Eater spoke for him, “ _the Dark Lord thanks you. You are entrusted with this task. Do you accept it?”_

            He knew better than to tell them no (he’d seen what they did with McIntyre. He didn’t know people had that much blood inside of them and he didn’t know people could make that kind of noise. But he did know snakes could open their jaws that wide).

            Flames danced, reflected on swirling black marble, as they arrived. The Order Members had relaxed-- heart rates slowed and posture loosened. They were calm, because they were safe. Sure, they stayed on their guard, but to them, the only threat was on the ground.

            For a split second, Sage had thought the ‘ _cracks_ ’ had come from the fire. Then she thought, for less than a fraction of a moment, it had been some part of the structure of the house, finally giving in and falling apart.

            But then her logic seemed to chime in, making her body freeze and tense as it told her, ‘ _hey! Those are people! Come to kill you! Or just horribly maim you! Leave!_ ’ and she grabbed James’ sleeve with her free hand. Her wand moved, pointing at each of them individually, as she couldn’t decide which to focus on.

            The four Death Eaters didn’t seem to have expected them, either. They looked at the man on the ground, the one in the chair, and at each other. They stared at the other masks, asking silently, “ _uh, what the hell, dude?_ ” in a moment bordering on being comical, if not for the overwhelming threat of imminent death.

            Confusion lasted long enough for Sage to get a better handle on who was there. Three of the Death Eaters were masked and - if she were honest - not much of a threat. But the fourth...

            He wasn’t wearing a mask, because he didn’t have to. It didn’t matter if people recognized him. They wouldn’t be able to tell people who he was if they knew-- they’d be too busy being dead.

            He stood directly in front of the man in the chair and stared at the Order Members with a raised brow, his hands clasped in front of him.

            The second she recognized him, Sage’s grip on James’ shirt tightened. She pulled, as if James would fall into her arms and she could grab him and run. But James stood strong, vaguely aware of her hold on his shirt and all too aware of how she was there and in danger.

            The Dark Lord was properly named. Either he had manipulated himself into fitting the name by changing and turning into a new person after he had chosen it - like the title was a new pair of jeans that were too small and he decided that instead of buying new ones he should just… cut off a chunk of his leg (he seemed like the person to do that).

            Or, more likely, someone had seen him, before he had been called ‘dark’ and when he wasn’t a ‘lord’ (although-- he wasn’t a lord, was he? He had no _real_ title. He was just... some guy from London.) and thought, immediately, _this man, this horrid, terrifying man, with hair blacker than the fabric of Death’s cloak, skin the colour of ivory ripped from tusks, and eyes the same brown as the trunks of trees in the deepest part of the Forbidden Forest, where you reach and know you can’t turn back, is a monster. He is the greatest enemy of Death, although he gives Death many gifts. He will stop at nothing. He does not have the ability to love, and he has lost his soul, his compassion, the very things that make him human. He is the dark children fear and adults shy away from in favour of light. He commands hatred. The Dark Lord._

            Sage stared at him for only a few seconds, but he met her eyes. _This man is not human,_ she told herself. _He is a cloud of malicious intentions wearing a coat of skin to seem regular. He has murdered more than you have hurt. He enjoys the chaos of war._

            She fought the urge to look away as she thought, _this man is a man. He is mortal._

            He had dark brown eyes that stared right back at her. _He can die._

            Chaos took over. Spells shot in different directions, lights flying through the air and shattering on invisible shields. People staggered, backs hitting the wall they then leaned on, because at least then they didn’t have to worry about being struck from behind.

            Tom didn’t do anything but watch with a bored expression. To him, these people were simple and pathetic. Squabbling over trying to hurt each other, they were messy. He wouldn’t’ve said _cockroaches_ , but... they were scuttling across the floor amongst other bugs.

            Sage couldn’t help looking over at the man in the chair, only a few steps away, who was still alive. As lights flew, she glanced over, trying to formulate an actual plan of how to get to him. The fight wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, she knew, and the fact that the Dark Lord was there himself ensured she would be better off fleeing.

            An almost telepathic thought passed from James to Sage, sent through a glance. James confirmed that he wouldn’t leave without the man, either. They were on the same page - that man was their priority, and they had to get him out.

            Peter had drifted away from them, and no longer stood by their side, getting closer and closer to the Death Eater on the right, who he dueled skillfully, sweat beading on his brow. The Death Eater’s expression was hidden by their mask, but he was most definitely sneering.

            James and Sage stood back-to-back as they inched away from the wall and towards the man, still casting offensive and protective spells. In what felt like both a second and excruciatingly long, they made their way to the man. Just as Sage reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, the Death Eater who had been fighting Peter grabbed him.

            Peter hadn’t been expecting this. He was nearing, nearing, nearing, and suddenly there was an arm around his neck and a chest pressed to his back. His airway was cut off slightly, but the Death Eater didn’t care, pressing their forearm into his throat even harder.

            _“Don’t try to worm away, Peter,”_ they said in a whisper. Their voice passed through their metal mask and hissed into his ear, a faint smell of garlic reaching his nose. “ _Stay still and I won’t have to hurt you.”_

            Peter shook, sweating, and frantically looking over at James and Sage. His beady eyes watched James stop Sage and focus on him.

            “Let him go,” said James, pointing his wand at the Death Eater. He was strong in voice and stance, an immovable and noble man. He was a lion facing off against a snake.

            “And why would I do--” the voice beside Peter’s ear spoke to James, smile evident in its tone.

            “Silence.” Voldemort’s voice cut through all other noise and commanded the world to pause. It listened. The spells stopped, and everyone looked at him.

            “Stop this foolishness,” he said, waving a hand at them all in a gesture designed to make them feel lesser than him.

            The arm on Peter’s neck loosened, but he still couldn’t move. His hands hand come up to grab it in a desperate attempt to pull it off, but his arms betrayed him. He wasn’t strong enough, so his fingers just grasped onto the arm and held there.

            “You three are not worth my time,” said Voldemort, head held high. “This man you attempt to rescue is not worth yours.”

            Sage almost snapped back at him, but one glance at the arm on Peter’s neck, and all she did was swallow. Her words fell down her throat, a scowl on her face.

            “This man,” he said, stepping closer to the chair, “is no innocent. You see him as a prisoner, but you do not know what he has done to earn the title.”

            “It doesn’t matter,” spat James, hand falling on the man’s shoulder. Voldemort scowled, hands disappearing in his cloak.

            Sage didn’t know what to do. Grab one of them, force them to let go of Peter in exchange? That wouldn’t work (it almost very aggressively _would not work_ ). Could she try to duel-- yeah, that wouldn’t work either...

            While Sage considered, James had his eyes glued on Peter, watching for any tiny movement that might make things worse. His wand was raised, pointed at the two of them. Just out of his field of view but in the corner of Sage’s, Lord Voldemort moved.

            Fluidly and silently, he had pulled out his wand from his robes and had it pointed directly between Sage and James, where whatever spell he would cast would hit the both of them.

            He spoke in a different voice as he cast a spell. It was deeper, like a demon’s, ravaged from years in Hell, and slower, like every noise was its own, individual thing that happened to come together. And he was louder, but he did not shout.

            “ _Ah-vah-dah-_ ” he began, each syllable clear and individual.

            It took less than a moment for Sage to realize what was going on, but it took her a second to react-- she felt her eyes widen, and moved without thinking. Her arms reached out and hands gripped onto James. A rush of strength passed through her, and she, in an instant, was pulling him with her as she dove to the floor.

            She landed half on him and half on the cold floor, ducking her head down and pulling him into her chest as if she could shield him. A green light flashed over them, and Sage let out a breath--

            In the exact moment Sage dove for the floor, Peter’s captor let go enough for him to elbow their stomach. He was released and fell forward as the man hunched over. Half tripping, Peter bounded away from the man, and reached his friends just as the green faded.

            Sage didn’t bother to sit up, only doing so enough to grab onto the leg of the man in the chair with her free hand, her other holding her wand with its arm around James, who gripped onto her wrist and balled up the fabric of her shirt just below her neck.

            With her fingers curled around the unconscious man’s ankle, Sage screwed her eyes shut. Two cracks sounded, seconds apart from each other.

            When she opened her eyes, Sage was no longer in the crowded room of Death Eaters, but on the floor of the Order’s front room. James pulled away from her as both their grips loosened and they sat up.

            The man was still unconscious, bleeding, and tied to a chair. Sage hurried to undo the knots on the ropes binding him, pointing her wand at them and whispering a spell she thought she’d forgotten.

            “Peter, thank Merlin,” said James as Sage noticed the side of the man’s black shirt getting darker, a pool appearing. She glanced over at James, who had stood to hug Peter, and back at the man.

            With hesitant fingers, Sage pulled up the side of his shirt, just enough to see the bottom of a wound which slid from his ribs to his hip.

            Sage cursed under her breath and let go of the shirt, standing. “He got splinched, I think.”

            “We need Dorcas,” said Peter, voice hoarse. Sage and James both nodded as Peter glanced at the door. “She should be here,” he whispered, mostly to himself, before hurrying off to find her or another healer.

            “Do you recognize him?” asked James as Sage returned to the man’s side, tending to his wound the best she could as it still bled. “I don’t.”

            “No.” Sage glanced at the man’s face, “but I don’t know if that’s just because he’s so bloody and beaten or if it’s actually because I don’t know him.”

            “That’s fair,” said James. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

            Sage chewed on her bottom lip. “Dunno. We can keep an eye on him just in case. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?”

            “I guess. He doesn’t look too good.”

            “No, not really.” After a pause, Sage looked up at James. “I wonder what he did to make Count Darkness so mad.”

            “‘Count Darkness’?” asked James, a smirk appearing on his face. He looked even messier than usual, hair flying in all directions in a way somehow different than before, when it was… _also_ flying everywhere.

            “Yeah,” said Sage, smiling back. “The prick who just tried to murder us? I dunno. ‘Count’ seems more… vampire-y than ‘lord’ and I think he’s more of a vampire, you know? _Sucking_ all the light out of a place.”

            “That’s actually hilarious,” said James. He gave a breathy laugh, “I don’t think I can ever be scared of him, but I’m even _less_ scared by ‘Count ‘Darkness’.”

            “Go all the way-- imagine him as... I dunno. Imagine him having bright pink hair.”

            James threw his head back in a laugh, asking her, “is it longer, or...?”

            “Oh, yes, of course.” Sage snorted, barely able to say, “it’s hot pink, and flows from his scalp like spaghetti.”

            James died. Laughing, of course, but he died.


	54. Fifty-Four

            As it turned out, Sage _did_ know the man the Death Eaters tied up. Jet Harski was a year older than her, but she’d still befriended her fellow Hufflepuff somewhat. He’d been on the Quidditch team she captained (she often found herself wondering about the team after she left. Who was the captain? Had they won any games? It was enough to make her want to go back to school. Okay, maybe it wasn’t enough for _that_ \-- she wasn’t keen on going back to all that work).

            He awoke groggy and unaware of what was happening and where he was (in his words, “ _wha the hgabla?_ ” He was _really_ groggy. Dorcas said that he practically had a mush brain for multiple minutes after he woke up). But after he’d gotten cleaned up and was aware of his surroundings, he ran into Sage.

            It was a strange reunion. Sage hadn’t seen him, she guessed, since the day he left Hogwarts. And they weren’t good enough friends to keep up with each other, so she knew nothing of him and vice versa. Although, his reactions were funny (when he first saw Sage: “Charles?!” And when he noticed James behind her: “Potter?!” And a few minutes later: “you got _married_ to _James Potter?_ ” Sage had been finding this was the general reaction she got from schoolmates she ran into randomly. Her favourite reaction, though, had been that of Kimmi Bell - another member of the team Sage captained. Kimmi had been hanging out that summer in Diagon Alley before heading off to school for her final year. Kimmi, upon hearing who Sage had wed, said, “and why would you do _that_?”).

            After Jet spoke to Dumbledore alone for almost an hour, Sage got to recount the events for the Headmaster. With James and Peter assisting her, she told the story of how they’d found the place, discovered Jet, and dealt with three Death Eaters and Voldemort himself before making their escape.

            Dumbledore sat silent as he listened, staring at them over his half-moon glasses. He nodded, waiting until they were done.

            “And then we disapparated here, and Jet got splinched,” said Sage, picking at her fingernails absent-mindedly. Dumbledore nodded once more.

            “I see,” he said wisely. “It is good you have rescued Mr. Harski. He will prove useful, I’m sure.”

            Standing, the old man continued. “But I must tell you three that not all of the consequences from tonight will be constructive.”

            Sage swallowed, closing her eyes. Her grip on James’ hand tightened. James, who still had the sound of his love’s screams echoing in his ears, straightened his back as if bracing himself to be hit by something large.

            “Lord Voldemort will not be happy about the results of this evening. You have most certainly angered him. Tonight, you not only got away with your lives, but with his prisoner as well. In doing this, you’ve ensured that the next time you meet him, he will not hesitate.” Dumbledore leaned forward, the light he usually held in his eyes hiding. “This is not the first time you have defied him, and I hope there will not be another.”

            “So what?” asked Sage, glancing at James. “We give up, out of fear of him?”

            “I certainly hope not,” said Dumbledore, standing straight. “One could hope you all did not let this ordeal haze you too much. But I must tell you,” his voice fell dark, “to heed my warning.”

            The three nodded, feeling less and less like students spoken to by their Headmaster and more like equals, while still hyper aware of the years the man held over them. Sage kept her eyes on Dumbledore’s robes, dark blue with shimmering thread woven in, watching as it swam through the candlelight, flowing and shining.

            “And I thank you, once more,” Dumbledore said. His face brightened, shadows hiding in his wrinkles gone. “For saving Mister Harski. He’s agreed to join our efforts here, starting with us as soon as he’s healed up completely.”

            “That’s wonderful!” said Sage, grinning. “I’m so glad-- he’ll be great, I’m sure.”

            “I have high hopes.” Dumbledore nodded. A sudden thought popped into James’ head, as he remembered--

            “Oh,” he said, turning to Sage, “I’ve just remembered. You went into that wall-- the cursed one? I don’t know what it did, but I… I don’t think it _didn’t_ do anything.”

            And so began an explanation of the whole ordeal with the bunker, and how Sage had leant into one of the cursed walls and how the wall had bare skeletons, piles of bones, behind it. She told Dumbledore about her strange feeling, and both Dumbledore and James listened closely. The former had his mind working on diagnosing and curing while the latter was worried about what this all meant for her.

            “I don’t know how else to describe it, other than that. It just… it’s like I touched the darkness and it stained me or something.” Sage spoke slowly, trying to sound mature (not like how she’d describe it to Wendy, “ _I touched the void and, like, it... er, it, well, it’s like, hanging on me? Like… I dunno, like I dipped my fingers in paint or something-- yeah, that’s what it’s like! Like I dipped my fingers in black paint but it turned invisible! And then I had to go plunge the rest of me in-- don’t look at me like that - I was cursed, it’s not my fault!”_ ).

            Dumbledore hummed, hand stroking his beard. After a beat, he folded his hands together and said, “well.”

            For a second, it seemed as if he was stopping there, and a wave of worry ran through James. But Dumbledore continued.

            “It seems,” he said, stepping out from behind his desk and walking to the cabinet not far from the entrance to his office. He moved less like a person taking steps and more like a ghost gliding across the floor, his robes flowing behind him. “That Mrs. Potter--” a rush of joy ran through both Sage and James upon hearing this, “--has been, in a way, poisoned.”

            “Poisoned?” asked Sage, her joy fading almost instantly. Dumbledore nodded.

            “Precisely. But instead of the poison we all know, which comes from potions and food, this is caused by a spell. A protection spell, if you will.” Dumbledore opened the cabinet full of bottles the size of two fingers, all glass and quite beautiful. He pulled out one with its bottle shaped like a sharp square with a diamond-shaped cap, reading its faded and yellowed label before shaking his head slightly and putting it back, looking at the other bottles.

            “But this protection spell is also unlike those we know. Instead of protecting with a barrier that cannot be passed, this allows entry, but promises a horrible fate to those who do so.”

            Sage’s eyes widened and she and James looked at each other frantically. Dumbledore looked back at them with a smile and told them, not very reassuring, “I’m sure you’ll be fine, though.”

            Glass clinked as Dumbledore shifted the bottles to get to those at the back. “After all, you didn’t go in completely.” Still unassured, the couple watched him inspect another bottle, this one slimmer and longer.

            “If you had…” Dumbledore turned around, looking up from the bottle at them with a smile, “well, we wouldn’t be here, to put it bluntly.”

            James forced himself not to say a sarcastic “ _thanks._ ” The bearded man approached Sage, bottle in hand, after closing the cabinet.

            “As strange as it may seem, I have seen this before, though it was long ago.” Dumbledore looked at Sage, handing her the bottle. She looked it over, reading the label, so yellow and faded that she could only make out a few letters written in worn black.

            _Mut-el-n-ste-o_ , she read, squinting in an attempt to see those few letters she couldn’t quite read. The liquid was a stark white in the glass bottle and sloshed around. It reminded Sage of milk - thick, pure milk, that ran down throats in a slimy gulp.

            “I suggest you drink it now, Sage, as the longer you stay like this, the worse you’ll feel,” said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Sage smiled at him, trying to hide a grimace.

            Unstopping the bottle, Sage got a whiff of its smell, the scent of a French herb she’d planted in her garden outside of the house she’d lived in with August - tarragon. She furrowed her brow, looking up at Dumbledore. He nodded, gesturing for her to drink it, so she brought the bottle’s opening to her lips, parting them before throwing her head back, letting the bottle empty into her mouth.

            The taste of black licorice hit her tongue, a clear sign that the potion did indeed have tarragon inside of it. Sage fought the urge to gag-- she’d never understand how people could like black licorice (even her own husband, the fool she’d chosen to marry, liked it. But, then again, James was super fucking weird) -- and swallowed.

            Sage very much expected to feel something, like a rush of warmth or some type of tingling, but all she felt was James’ hand on her shoulder comfortingly and the coolness of the bottle against her fingers. There was nothing to suggest it had worked, no feeling of a slate being wiped clean. Her fingers and her bones still felt bl--

            _Oh_ , thought Sage, as she realized that she didn’t feel wrong anymore. She felt right, suddenly, like her bones were right again. No more of the darkness encased her-- the pure, jet black, even darker than James’ hair, was gone.

            Dumbledore watched Sage with all the curiosity of Rowena Ravenclaw herself, eyes glistening like a stream in a forest lightly touched by the first glimmers of sunlight on a freshly born morning. As her hand fell, putting the cap back onto the bottle, he stared, holding out his hand to take it.

            “Well?” asked James, also watching her closely. Behind him, Peter gnawed on the nail of his thumb, tense with thought.

            “It worked,” said Sage, following it up with an unsure, “at least I think so.”

            James grinned as Dumbledore clapped his hands together and said, “splendid!”

            “So you’ll be okay? She’ll be okay?” James spoke to the elderly man. “It’s gone?”

            “Well,” began Dumbledore, tone suddenly shifting to one of uncertainty. “It is to be assumed so, but it would be wise to be on the watch for any abnormalities.”

            “Abnormalities?”

            “If the feeling of ‘being stained’ returns, or if you find yourself feeling that something is very, truly, deeply wrong, I urge you to come to me.” Dumbledore peered over his glasses, his eyes shimmering. Sage felt like he was looking straight through her at her bones, glaring at them to intimidate them into not acting up again.

            Sage didn’t know what to tell him, so she nodded. Her mind rumbled, wondering _what if it comes back? Will I notice it? What if I just get sick and I come to him for help but I just waste his time? Fuck, why did I have to touch the fucking curse wall. Fuck._

 

            “I don’t think we need that much sugar, James.” Sage took one look at the bowl in her husband’s hands and pulled the one in front of her away. She stirred the cake batter slowly, holding the bowl out of James’ reach in a desperate attempt to stop him from pouring the sugar he had into the batter.

            “But honey--” James moved closer, sliding across tile on his socks smoothly. Sage glared at him.

            “James! Oh my-- don’t-- agh!” James, in an attempt to get the sugar into the bowl, had poured the sweet stuff onto his wife. All down her front, under her shirt, and into the batter, sugar flew, gritty and becoming sticky.

            “Ohhh…” James backed up, smiling awkwardly, “oh no.”

            “James, I swear to Merlin--” Sage closed her eyes and took in a breath, hand stopping. The sugar James had poured on her settled atop the batter, but stuck to the sweat on her chest, otherwise falling to the floor.

            “I’m sorry, love, I really am,” said James, obviously regretful but not at all _really_ sorry.

            “It’s fine.” Eyes flew open and stared at James like daggers, “you just don’t get any cake.”

            “What?! No! Sage, come on!” James whined, grabbing at her as if this would change her mind. She huffed, looking away from him snottily, continuing to stir (now trying to integrate the extra sugar James had imputed).

            “No cake.”

            “But it’s our anniversary, please!”

            “So we’ve been together for two years-- that’s your reward. Not cake.”

            “ _Sage!_ ”

            “James, get off the floor-- oh, come _on_.” Sage stopped stirring to watch James pout at her, hands clasped together, begging. “There’s sugar stuck to me now.”

            “ _Please_ \--” His lower lip stuck out in the most exaggerated pout he could manage, but Sage just rolled her eyes.

            “James, come on,” she said, bowl in one arm as she attempted to get him off the floor with the other. “You baby--”

            Slapping away her arm, James wrapped his own around her legs, hugging them tightly, still pouting at her. A groan came from Sage and she threw her head back, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. She felt his arms loosen the smallest bit, hinting he’d give up, only to be assured he was just beginning as she felt his nose brush against her stomach.

            “James--” Sage stared at the ceiling before closing her eyes, feeling James move around, his arms loosening more and more, face getting lower and lower. “ _James--_ ” she said, in a gasp, as he pulled back clothes to brush his nose against her skin. Sugar fell from the crevices in her shirt onto him as he continued.

            Sage stepped back, James moving with her, until she hit the counter. Unable to go further, she put down the bowl to tangle her fingers in his hair, biting her tongue. “You aren’t necessarily getting cake just because you… _fuck--_ ”

 

            Sirius turned 20 in not a flash, nor a bang, not even in a soft ‘hurrah’. Instead, because of the full moon the next day, he had a small get-together, with his closest friends, where he ended up having more fun than he had expected to. They all spent the night strangely sober, with a lack of people and loud music, less of a party and more of a nice night in which happened to be in honour of him.

            He stepped outside at a point in the night, butterbeer in hand, leather jacket hung over his shoulders, and sat on the curb. A cigarette sat between his fingers and a sigh escaped him as he put his bottle next to his feet, clad in the boots he refused to get rid of.

            They’d been the first thing he’d bought himself with his own money, and no matter how ratty they got, he couldn’t bring himself to stop wearing them. And no matter how much older he got, how much he distanced himself from his family, he still had a part of his soul missing because of them.

            The cigarette was lit with a spark, held in his mouth with his teeth, and he took in a breath. Smoke filled him and left again, flying into the air and vanishing. He always liked watching it do that-- like he was letting the shadows inside of him float away. He felt lighter.

            It hadn’t been the best year, he thought, as he sat there. His legs stretched out and he remembered, trying to stop his thoughts from getting too fucking deep.

            His father had died. Walburga survived and Sirius simultaneously didn’t want anything to do with her and wanted to know if she was doing alright without him. _Which him?_ It didn’t matter.

            How could he feel so much hatred towards someone, someone who had done him so wrong, who he _knew_ was a terrible person, and also... long for them? Walburga had taken something from him, something important, but he still felt, too often, like she could give it back.

            Maybe if she gave him back whatever she still held onto with those long, bony fingers, he could put it back, and feel more whole. And then, when the war took more of him, he’d not be as empty.

            Sirius wanted things too much. None of these things were going to come to him, and there was no way for him to have them, but he still wanted them. As unrealistic and idiotic as it was, he still _fucking wanted_.

            He wanted the war to end. He wanted to be younger, dumber, reckless, uncaring. He wanted to go back to childhood, but not his own. He wanted the golden years of youth James got-- the age of not knowing fear.

            He wanted to take hold of everything he had and everything he wished for and never let go. He wanted to go back in time and tell his brother he loved him more. He wanted to go up to Regulus and say “ _I accept you. You’re my brother and I love you,_ ” because he never found himself brave enough to in the past.

            He wanted to go back and take his brother with him, when he left. He wanted things to have gone differently. He wanted to have said something more to Regulus than what he did. He wanted to actually say goodbye. He wanted to change his brother’s mind. He wanted his brother to not be a Death Eater.

            He wanted to live the life he was supposed to be living. The one he knew was unrealistic and inflated and sugar coated and rose tinted and _impossible_. He wanted to live in a movie, where things had a real beginning, a hard middle, and a happy end. All he was getting was the difficulty that came with the climax.

            He wanted to know who the spy was. He wanted to stop them. He wanted, so, so terribly, for them not to be Remus. Fuck, he _needed_ it to not be Remus. Anyone but Remus.

            He wanted all the signs to be different. He wanted the initial thoughts he’d had of ‘that’s strange’ to have not gotten worse, gotten to this point, when he was so certain there was a spy. He wanted the others to see it, to see all the signs he did, more clearly than they did then. They had just began to suspect, when Sirius was ready to act. They hadn’t caught up. At least they’d finally began to realize.

            He wanted to know where Remus had been going. Late at night, during the day, when they had plans he didn’t show up to. He wanted to know the real reason why Remus had been so late to his birthday. He knew, at the very least, that “ _I was taking a nap, overslept, only realized what time it was three minutes ago_ ” was a lie.

            He wanted things between him and Remus to be the way they were when they were fifteen. He wanted them to still be dumb but to do what they had then. He wanted to be more than they were then.

            _What happened to not getting too deep?_ Sirius asked himself as he took another drag. The red got more aggressive for a second, while he inhaled, and died down again. Smoke blew out of his mouth, clouding above him, and he let his hand fall to his side, gripping the cigarette lightly.

            _Fuck it_ , he thought.

            _He wanted. He wanted. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. He wanted. He wanted. He wanted and he wanted. He wanted. He wanted. He wanted. He wanted. He wanted. He wanted. He wanted. He wanted. He wanted._

            “Sirius?”

            Sirius sat up suddenly, “hey, James.” Fuck. Had he been out there too long? Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed the cigarette had burnt out. “I’m coming.”

            “Good,” said James. His voice was liquid gold, pouring itself into the air, and a crisp apple, offered up to anyone who needed it. He slapped Sirius on the back as he walked back inside, “c’mon, mate.”

            Sirius downed the rest of the contents of the bottle in his hands. Making a satisfied noise, he grinned at his brother.

            At least, he thought, he had this night.

 

            Kreature. Sirius had to find out through _fucking_ Kreature. He couldn’t decide what was worse: hearing his brother had been fighting in the war on the opposite side from Gideon Prewett after he and his brother dueled Regulus, or hearing from the house elf he grew up with that his brother was dead.

            Regulus was dead, and Sirius _knew_ that he died doing something for fucking Voldemort. Kreature wouldn’t tell Sirius how he died (a promise, he had said, that he made to his master as he gave his last breath) but Sirius knew it was Voldemort’s doing.

            Sirius flip-flopped between thinking of his brother as a Pure-Blood Supremacist and Death Eater, the boy who grew up to be the son their parents always wanted, and his _brother_. The boy who was brainwashed, who believed what his parents told him, like a good son.

            So Sirius settled on remembering the part of his brother he never doubted, never second-guessed. When they were little, before Sirius went to Hogwarts and was scared of what his parents would do to Reg, because he wouldn’t be there to protect him. Before he was sorted into the wrong house.

            Regulus ate dirt. Sirius remembered this fondly. The image of his baby brother staring at the ground in curiosity and leaning down only to shove dirt into his mouth for no reason other than he was little and stupid.

            But over the years, Regulus grew up. Sirius missed it. He wasn’t there.

            He wished he would’ve told Regulus how much he loved him when he had the chance.

 

            Early December offered up to the three of them simple things it always did: air on the verge of being too cold, stars shining through black night, and the noises made by creatures preparing for a long sleep.

            Stepping through grass that crinkled under feet, they all walked slowly, on edge. Frost began to ice the world, not yet blanketing over everything, only grazing it, a fine glaze of icy cold.

            A howl sounded from the wood only steps away, a wolf deep in the trees shouting out at the moon, no longer at the fullness it was two days prior. A breeze flew by, blowing up the hair of the three people as they hugged their jackets closer and told themselves to _wear a coat next time_.

            Beside them, a stone wall connected to others held up a manor, old and elegant. A garden stood in front of them, rose bushes blocking their way.

            It was usual for them to go here, as a part of their rounds. On the lookout for any suspicious behavior, the three glanced in a window at an unlit sitting room. They all shared looks, ignoring the cat on the plush, red couch, to agree it was empty. All other windows had shown the same thing - nothing was wrong, so they turned around, grass still crunching underfoot.

            A sudden silver orb stopped them in their tracks as it flew out of the forest, stopping in front of them before turning into a wispy otter. The three of them knew what this thing was at once - a Patronus, sent by someone from the Order to deliver a message.

            “You’re needed at location eight,” it said, voice clear and deep, before fading away.

            “That’s it?” asked Sirius, glancing at James. He grumbled, “would’ve been nice to tell us _why_ we’re needed, but _okay_.”

            “Let’s go, then,” said James. He emitted a sigh, looking up at the moon and back at the other two. “Location eight.”

            Sage took a second to remember what ‘location eight’ was. James held out his hand to her and she took it, their other hands gripping their wands. Sirius nodded at James, his own wand pointed at the ground as his eyes flickered at the trees, where he couldn’t really see through the darkness.

 

            Why they were needed at location eight, as it turned out, was to hear of a new assignment. A tired-looking Frank Longbottom told them, around a table in a crowded pub, that there was a rescue mission they were needed on.

            “I’ve been told to go home,” said Frank, rubbing his eye. “I want to go back out, but…”

            “Constant vigilance is hard to accomplish when you’re half asleep, yeah.” Sirius nodded, cracking his knuckles under the table. Frank pointed at him as if to confirm what he’d said. “Who’re we rescuing, though?”

            “Dorcas,” said Frank. Immediately, the three stared at him in shock.

            “Dorcas?” sitting forward, Sage furrowed her brow. “But she’s a healer-- why would she’ve-- _when_ did she--”

            “There’s a whole story, but we haven’t got time.”

            Pushing aside their curiosity, the three sat back and nodded. Frank itched his nose and began, “you’ll need to figure out where she’s being held, but--”

 

            In hindsight, they should’ve figured things would work out this way. Or, at least, that their plan wouldn’t work out very well. What had seemed like a good idea at the moment had quickly gone sour, leading to an array of events, all coming together to form one giant ball of bad times.

            Sage was tied to a chair. Her wrist had been broken earlier on, so pain shot up her arm every time she tried to adjust her bindings in an attempt to keep the rope from digging into the broken bone. It didn’t help, no matter what she did, but she kept trying, ignoring the rope on the other parts of her body keeping her from moving her legs.

            ‘Dungeon’ is the best way to describe the room she was stuck in. It had stone walls and floors and only one window on the far wall that provided no view of the outside, as she was faced away from it, at the door. The room smelled strangely like fresh mint, the scent carried through the room on chilly air.

            Sage sat on one of three chairs in the dungeon, the others not far from her, all three arranged like the points of a triangle. A light fixture hung in the middle of them, candlelight flickering down onto the floor.

            She wasn’t alone in this room. Along with her were Sirius, who kept taunting their captors, and James, who focused mainly on Sage. He ignored the blood dripping down his forehead slowly from a wound his hair covered and kept looking at her, watching her face as she tried to move her broken wrist into a better spot.

            “ _\--up, you fuckers_ ,” shouted Sirius at the closed door. He couldn’t help but yell at the people who had them tied up, no matter how bad of an idea it was. He continued, “ _too scared to duel us like--_ ”

            “Is your wrist okay?” asked James, as he tried to wiggle around in his chair to no avail. Sage gave him a sad smile and a shrug.

            “It’s not the best, bu--” Sage was cut off as the door flew open and a man she didn’t recognize entered the room. Sirius’ shouts stopped when the wood of the door slammed forward, hitting the stone wall with a bang.

            Suddenly much more frantic, Sage looked away from the man for a second to her wand that lay on the floor, only a step away, but too far for her to reach.

            “Will-- you-- shut-- up--” the man huffed, out of breath, at Sirius. His wand was out and raised, face flushed. One look at him and it was easy to figure out what he was feeling-- anger. Pure, white hot rage. Sirius didn’t seem to care.

            “Fu--”

            “ _Pads, shut up_ ,” hissed Sage, trying not to glare at the Death Eater. She wanted to follow up with “do you _want_ to die?” but decided it wasn’t the time to scold him.

            For a second, it seemed as if the man would turn back and leave, close the door and forget about them. But his wand, which had been lowering, was suddenly pointed right at James, square between his eyes.

            Stomach turned into lead, Sage didn’t think and forced herself to act. She ignored the overwhelming feeling of dread that brought her close to tears and did the only thing she could-- yell.

            “ _Hey, asshole_ \--” she shouted. The man snapped his head over to her and a tiny part of her asked herself why she was putting herself in such danger. Green met hazel and she understood, fully. “ _You’re pathetic._ ”

            James wanted, so powerfully, to jump out of his seat and tackle the man, but found himself unable. A part of him cursed Sage, and he wanted to both yell at and kiss her. The Death Eater’s wand was no longer pointed at him, James was no longer looking Death directly in its eyes, but he watched it turn to his wife with all the terror he should’ve felt over his own death.

            “ _Crucio_.” The man summoned a red light, his wand pointed right at Sage, and watched as she tensed up. Her head threw back and she let out a scream that stuck in the room, hitting the walls only to bounce right back. James watched with horror and teary eyes, and the Death Eater watched with a smile.

            Losing the ability to think rationally, James began to flail about as much as he could while still tied to the chair. He attempted to turn into his stag form, failed, and ended up on the floor, begging, _“take me, please-- stop, don’t hurt her, please--_ ”

            It was strange, for Sirius, to feel what overcame him then. He couldn’t even see Sage, as the man blocked his view, but he heard the first hint of her scream and felt something that made him wonder, _is this what Thor feels like? Or Hercules? One of the strong guys? Those guys Remus read all the stories about that one year?_

            In a swift movement, Sirius had his own chair on the floor. But, unlike James, who was trying to wiggle over to Sage, he was craning his neck in an attempt to get James’ wand, the stick the closest to him. His own was over by Sage, and he didn’t really have the opportunity to be picky.

            As his mouth (the only thing he could really grab the wand with) neared James’ wand, the screams stopped, as the Death Eater realized the other two were on the floor.

            “ _Please!_ ” James’ voice became much more audible, heartbreakingly desperate. Sage, shook, hunched forward, staring at her lap, and heard him for the first time, as all else had faded away while she was tortured. “ _Please, no_ \--”

            “Shut up!” the Death Eater waved his wand, and James’ chair sat upright. James and Sage looked at each other, both of them distraught, and attempted to comfort each other from separate places in the room. Sirius moved quickly in the seconds before his own chair was sat up.

            “You three,” began the Death Eater, scowl overtaking his ugly face, “are unmanageable-- I know that now.”

            “What’re you gonna do?” asked Sirius, rope digging into his wrists. “Kill us or some shit?”

            “How dare you think you can talk to me in such a manner,” the man scowled, “you maggots.”

            “You want to kill us? So soon?” Sirius, hoping this plan would work better than the other, glanced at James, attempting to get him in the loop.

            “We’ve only just met.” James, glancing at Sage out of the corner of his eye, gave a barely-noticeable nod to his brother. A smirk appeared on his lips and he slipped into ‘cool and clever James’. “Don’t you want to get to know us first?”

            “Buy us dinner? Then you can poison it.”

            “Meet the parents? You can kill them, too.”

            “Take us on a moonlit carriage ride? You can jump out right when we’re heading into a lake.”

            “No.” Sage’s voice was gruff as she looked up, hair falling over her eyes, right at the man. “He’ll want to skip right to the good stuff. Do you want to take us into the bedroom? You seem like a masochist. After you hurt us for your pleasure, then we’ll just go ahead and jump off a fucking building for you. I mean, I’m sure that’s what everyone who you’ve ever slept with has done afterwards.”

            James had to force himself not to say “holy shit, Sage.” Both his and Sirius’ mouths hung open, pulled up at the edges ever so slightly.

            “ _Excuse_ me?” asked the man, in the manner that said “I know what you just said, but I’m giving you a chance to fix it, so you don’t fuck things up as much as you seem to want to.”

            “You a bit slow?” Sage looked between Sirius and James before hiding a smile. “I’d expect you to be different. You seem like you’d finish early.”

            It came, no matter how much James told it not to-- a laugh, falling off his lips in a puff. Sirius didn’t laugh, but he had a look on his face like Christmas had come early, total delight in spite of the terrible situation they were in. He almost forgot what he was doing.

            “Crucio!” shouted the man, turning at the last minute to shoot the torture curse at James, the one who had dared to laugh.

            It was hard to imagine him, the boy full of contagious laughter, laughing in that moment. Screams erupted from him in a manner which seemed by itself an act of aggression. He both pleaded and roared with his screams, begging for release while letting it be known that he would not give up without a fight.

            As the screams died down, it became apparent that his wife’s grin had fallen, along with his brother’s delight, into horror. Sage screamed out for him, in two different languages, sounding far more Scottish than she had in years.

            “James! _Please--_ I beg you, no-- No! _Please_ _! Mis_ _éricorde_ _!_ James!” Sage sobbed. His screams ripped through her, tearing her to pieces. “I’m the one who mouthed off! Leave him, please!”

            As James calmed, the curse fading, the Death Eater sneered, about to speak again when the door opened once more. This time, instead of it being an angry minion of Voldemort, it was a _furious_ actual Voldemort.

            “My lord,” said the Death Eater, bowing down. Voldemort ignored him, focusing on the captives. Sage was trying, desperately, to talk to James, looking between the angry Dark Lord and her husband with eyes full of fear.

            “Jame--”

            “Stupid girl,” hissed Voldemort, pointing his wand in her face. “Where is he?”

            “I-I don’t know who y--” Sage could feel the tears flowing down her cheeks, unable to look away from the wand pointed at her.

            “ _Crucio._ ” Screams replaced Sage’s words, lasting only a second before he spoke again. “You know! Where is he?”

            Sage was only vaguely aware of where she was, staring at the floor with blurry, useless eyes. Her name was called, snapping her back into the chair, as she felt the sharp pain of her broken wrist.

            “Sage, please,” James begged, fearing the worst as he watched her seem unbearably blank. A hint of a memory appeared in his mind, of a girl driven mad by the very curse Sage had just been subjected to. Through unimaginable fear, he remembered once, when they were teenagers - stupid, young, teenagers.

            Voldemort turned to James as he recalled lying in grass on the Hogwarts grounds, staring up at the stars. Sage lay beside him, at that moment nothing more than a friend (well, a _little_ more, as they were _very obviously_ attracted to each other, and it can’t really be said that they were ‘the simplest of friends’ when they had snogged multiple times). He had wondered if she wanted more-- if she was feeling what he was, and had taken her hand. He asked her what she wanted in the future. _‘When we grow up.’_ She told him she couldn’t see herself being married. He listened to every word she said _so intently_ , his younger self strained to remember every moment.

            But, as Voldemort shot a red light at his 19-year-old self, all James could remember was the way she felt, the way she looked. Ethereal.

            Sirius had finally - _fucking finally_ \- gotten James’ wand into his hand. This had been a feat, as he had to do it without anyone seeing, having grabbed it with his mouth right before his chair had been put upright.

            So the ropes around him fell, followed by those on Sage and James. Sage lept to her right, grabbing her own wand off the floor and Sirius’, not far from hers. James’ screams died as Voldemort realized two of the three captives were free, followed by the third as James stood, supported by the other two.

            After an exchange of wands that took less than a second, the three were gone.


	55. Fifty-Five

            Sirius loved this-- the feeling of rushing air on his face, running through his hair, making it flow behind him dramatically (he had to admit that he had a flair for the dramatics). The purr of the engine, the thrill of the danger of it all, the leather on every inch of skin, the vibration of the machine between his legs. He loved his motorcycle, perhaps _too_ much.

            He vowed to himself, every single time he got on it, that he’d never get rid of it. If not just for the sentimental value, he was attached to it. It was his baby (the love of his life, the moon to his stars).

            And it didn’t even have to be in the air (although he _loved_ using the ‘flying’ part of his motorcycle) for him to enjoy it. Riding the streets of London, zooming down narrow roads, and winking at cute people standing outside of shops he was stopped next to? His favourite.

            The best, though, was getting lost. _Fuck,_ he loved getting lost. Not only was it an adventure, he’d get to see new stuff, and _even more_ cute people… also, it was an excuse for being late (he got lost more often on purpose, honestly). AND, the last time he’d gotten lost, he’d ended up with a cannoli. For free. That’s unbeatable.

            So he winked at a pair of twenty-somethings on the side of the road as he waited to turn before speeding off, leaving the two of them giggling like schoolgirls. He was making his way, slowly, to James’ place, which _technically_ was ‘the Potter’s’, or ‘James and Sage’s’, but _really_ , it was more like ‘James and Sage and Sirius’ place’. He was practically a resident, at that point, with how often he was there.

            They should name him co-owner.

            His motorcycle hummed underneath him, running down thankfully snow-free streets and through tunnels and around corners. It didn’t take long for him to not be lost anymore, finding his way to Godric’s Hollow. On the edge of the village, the cottage he knew so well.

            He parked, the engine turning off and falling silent, stretching his arms over his head. Bones cracked, his spine appreciating being set right after he had slouched over his bike for so long. A leather-covered leg swung off one side of the motorcycle, both feet planting themselves on the ground for seconds before picking up again as he began to walk to the door.

            The gate swung open and Sirius passed through, careful to shut it behind him. He walked the path to the front door, taking note of the frosted plants in Sage’s garden. December was upon them, and nature was feeling it (though, not as much as they had the last year).

            Sirius didn’t bother with knocking, and unlocked and opened the door before he strolled in, on the lookout for either of the people who lived there. His head poked into the living room, then the kitchen, but both were empty.

            He debated, for a second, going upstairs. His mind ultimately decided, leading to him walking into the kitchen to grab (not steal. 100% not stealing) snacks. With snacks, all ridiculously unhealthy, in his hands, he made his way out of the kitchen.

            A balancing act with no audience walked through the hallway. With a biscuit in his mouth, Sirius’ head whipped around as footsteps fell slowly down the stairs.

            “Oh, hey, Sage,” said Sirius, sounding more like “moh, may hage” with his mouth full. She looked over at him, brow furrowed and face full of obvious shock and confusion. “Whaa--” Sirius swallowed, continuing. “What’s wrong?”

            “I--” Sage stuttered, staring at the ground stoically before looking up at Sirius. She spoke again, “I think I’m pregnant.”

            Sirius almost choked. It was certainly good that he had just swallowed, because he would’ve, most definitely, gotten biscuit lodged in his throat if he hadn’t. Coughing and simultaneously trying to not drop things (and failing), he asked, “ _what?!_ ”

            “I…” Sage’s demeanour faded from shock into panic as she took the last couple steps off the stairs. Sirius gave up trying to pick things up, leaving bags on the floor to totally focus on her. He crossed his arms and stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

            “I thought my bones were doing that thing again, you know? That, er, the... dark thing?” Sage struggled to find the words, wringing her hands as she began to pace in front of him. “Yeah, the dark thing. But I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t want to trouble Dumbledore if it wasn’t that, and I went to Wendy, and she suggested… and I just took a test, and…”

            “Positive?” Sirius held onto Sage’s arms to stop her, forcing her to stand still and look at him. She nodded, quickly speaking again.

            “But I don’t know for sure!” She waved her hands around, “not totally, and I know the potion’s usually always right, but…” The face she made revealed how exacerbated she felt, as she made a noise like “hugh?”

            Sirius simultaneously didn’t understand and completely understood the noise, but he was feeling more… like a squiggly line, full of highly-condensed squiggles. Like white noise.

            “I don’t know!” Sage threw her hands into the air, “I most likely am, but... _how_?”

            “You know how,” said Sirius, calming down. His squiggles loosened, but Sage’s did not. The cheeky smirk he gave her was not well received.

            “Sirius Black, I swear, shut the fuck up,” she scolded, pointing her finger in his face. His hands left her arms as he held them up in surrender. Sage groaned, running a hand through her hair, stepping back. “I’m lost.”

            “Well, most likely, you have a child living inside of you, sucking off your life force.”

            “Don’t be cheeky, asshole.” Sage huffed. “I want to be _sure_ I’m sure.”

            “Okay, I don’t know how else you can do that-- those tests are fool proof.”

            “I know. But…” It seemed to dawn on her that what was happening _was happening,_ that it was real, and that this was the truth. She looked at the floor, and said in a whisper, “holy shit.”

            “Holy shit,” said Sirius, nodding in agreement. He remembered something, a grin appearing on his face, “this is better than Davy Jones.”

            “What’s better than Davy Jones?” James asked, walking into the hallway. Sage jumped, obviously unaware that he was home, stammering an excuse while seeming as guilty as possible.

            “Nothing! Er, there’s nothing! Right, Sirius?” Sage elbowed the dog, face begging him to lie. Sirius looked over at Sage with furrowed brows.

            “Why don’t you want him to-- oof!” With another elbow in his stomach, Sirius turned to James. “Yep. Listen to your wife.”

            “Oh-kay…” said James, staring at them strangely, a smile gracing his lips. “Yeah, because that’s not incredibly suspicious.”

            “Sage, just tell him--”

            “Sirius, I _will_ kill you.”

            “Alright! Sheesh. Rude.” Sirius tutted, picking up the various snacks on the floor, whispering in Sage’s ear, and walking off into the living room.

            James watched this whole interaction with raised brows and confusion. As Sirius walked out, he turned to Sage, asking her a million questions without opening his mouth. Mind racing, Sage tried to calm from her panicked state again while attempting to make a decision.

            “Oh, hey, James,” she stammered, leaning against the wall awkwardly. “What brings-- that’s a dumb question. You live here. We live here.”

            “Yeah, we do,” said James slowly, stepping closer to her. “Is something wrong?”

            “Nah,” said Sage, breathing weirdly. Her voice began to speak, its own entity. “I, er, I just... found something out earlier today.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Well,” she began, chuckling awkwardly. A curse shot through her mind: what was she so anxious for? “As it turns out, er-- well, I, uh, I’m pregnant.”

            James’ smile fell as his body froze. Standing awkwardly with lips pursed, Sage crossed her arms as he stared at her. He made a noise that wasn’t any kind of language. His frozen shock faded after less than a second, but Sage felt as if he’d been staring at her for an eternity.

            “You’re-- you’re serious?” he asked, stepping closer to her, head bowed. Sage nodded. It was as if her nod was the confirmation his emotions needed, telling them to do their thing. He gave an airy chuckle, immediately hugging her hard enough to break bones.

            She hugged him back, face in the crook of his neck, fists balling up the fabric that covered his back. After multiple seconds, he pulled away, looking her in her eyes. Green met hazel, and she realized--

            “Are you crying?” Sage grinned, hands moving to caress his face, thumbs wiping tears off his cheeks as she cooed. He half-sobbed, half-laughed, eyes sparkling (and not just from the tears).

            James couldn’t really remember a time he had been this happy. It was like the feelings of her asking him to marry her, flying for the first time, running through the Forbidden Forest with his closest friends, and every emotion he’d ever felt before rolled into one.

            _Fuck_ , he was happy. _So_ happy. He wished his parents were there, to be a part of it all, but he didn’t let that bring his mood down.

            And he didn’t care that he was full-on gross sobbing. It didn’t matter. What mattered was he was going to have a child, soon. He would be a father, and that was a dream come true.

            James Potter wanted a lot of things. He wanted his wife to be safe, for his friends and loved ones to not fear for their lives. He wanted the war to end, for the Death Eaters and their leader to die off. He wanted a family, with happy kids and wild grandchildren. He wanted to look at his family tree and see an array of branches coming off of his name. But, more than anything, James Potter wanted to grow old. James Potter wanted to grow old so bad it _hurt_.

 

            August cried. Not as much as James, but he cried when they finally found him and told him the news (tracking him down had proved difficult). And as it turned out, James was terrible at telling people. He tended to speak too fast, mixing words and ideas together into nonsensical phrases that he delivered with such excitement Sage had to actually pull him aside so he could calm down.

            Usually, it went like this: Sage would stand by James’ side as he told whoever (they were mainly telling just those close to them first, waiting a bit to formally, publicly announce) the news. Well, she’d stand by his side as he _tried_ to tell the news.

            Like when he told Wendy (who was practically already in the know), “WE’RE BABY.”

            Sage had pat his shoulder, told Wendy, “you were right, I’m pregnant, and James is the child,” before guiding him to sit on the couch and walking him through breathing exercises.

            The best reaction, though, had to have been Remus’. He had stopped over at the Potters, Sirius (who already knew) and Peter (who figured it out after James yelled something at him akin to “PETER. SAGE. PREGNANT.”) already there.

            When Sage had told him, calmly, as James hyperventilated beside her, that there was a baby on the way, he froze. Only for an instant, though, before he immediately said, totally monotone, “no you’re not.”

            When Sage had assured him that, yes, she _was_ telling him the truth, he eyed both her and her husband, who had his hand over his mouth as his leg bounced at the speed of light.

            “Okay,” said Remus, pointing to James. “So he’s panicked, obviously. Excited, yeah, but-- holy shit, Prongs, stop moving your leg so much, it’s distracting--” Remus pointed to Sage, narrowing his eyes at her. “Why are _you_ so calm about this?”

            Sage stared him in the eyes and gave him a strained smile, saying, “oh, I’m not!” like one would say they were ‘totally fine’ with having their rival over for tea. “I’m barely holding it together, Rem!”

            “Okay, breathe,” said Remus, holding a hand out as if he was guiding her breath. “You’ll be okay. Congratulations, really. You two will be great parents.”

            “Mm-hmm.” Sage nodded, mouth shut tightly. Her nostrils flared, an aggressive breath shooting out of her.

 

            All in all, excitement was felt by those who knew. The public announcement was to happen on Christmas Eve, at the Potter’s Christmas party, but they weren’t exactly keeping it a secret.

            As it turned out, they weren’t the only people who were expecting-- Frank and Alice Longbottom announced their own pregnancy only days before Christmas. Sage had rushed up to Alice and told her the news, and the two women quickly found solace in each other.

            They ended up talking for much longer than anticipated, sharing worries and anxieties while voicing support and hope. As Alice said, “the idea of bringing a child into this world, as it is now, ravaged by war, is terrifying. But life must go on, right? What are we, if we stop living?” And as Sage told her, “it’s scary to think we aren’t going to be fighting for a few months, while we’re at our peak, yeah? How will the Order do without? How will _we_ just sit around and not help? And to think, James and Frank will still be out there…”

            The two women ended up walking away from the conversation feeling like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. Sage had been getting support from James, but as Alice knew exactly what she was going through, she was better (at least, sometimes. Sage still preferred James).

 

            The Christmas party was a strange mix of formal and… _party_. Reflective of those who held it, it was two ages coming together. They were partying like teenagers, but they were still classy, like the ‘adults’ they were becoming. A transition party, if you will (Sirius promised his New Year’s party would be “all party,” thank-you-very-much).

            Sage was exhausted, obviously, by the end of the night. Remus helped James clear everyone out afterward as Sage passed out on the couch. As James carried her off to bed, he asked Remus, “you sleeping here?”

            With a shrug, Remus looked over at the empty couch. On the armchair to the left of the couch, Peter was out cold. “Maybe,” he said, in an exhale.

            “Chill. Don’t knock over the tree,” said James sleepily, also out of it. “G’night, or whatever.”

            “Good night, James.” Remus spoke up the stairs at the boy who quickly walked out of sight. A sigh escaped him as he looked around the hallway, into the living room where Peter let out soft snores.

            The glow of the Christmas tree washed over the living room, warm and soothing, somehow making him sleepier. With a shake of his head as if to banish his tiredness, Remus pulled the sleeves of his sweater (yellow, and quite soft, while too big for him and scruffy) over his hands and turned away from the soft light.

            Out the front door, sitting on the porch with his leather jacket wrapped tight around him, Sirius took a long drag of a cigarette he held between two fingers. His hair, loose, fell to one side, a wavy black cascade reaching past his shoulders. With it all swept to his left, the right side of his face, jaw, and neck were bare against the cold wind.

            Remus, heart beating steady and strong, opened the door to step outside. Sirius’ head turned, only looking at the other boy long enough to figure out who it was. Remus stepped closer before he sat down beside Sirius, arms tucked in close. His breath fell from his lips in a smoky puff soon upstaged by Sirius’ exhale, a wave of actual smoke blowing into the air.

            It was a cold December night, sweet, made to be stared out at through windows, surrounded by family. The warmth it gave from looking at the snow, which more closely resembled piles and piles of powdered sugar, was dimmed when actually outside. Sitting on the porch gave the feeling of something missing, of being almost right, the fear of missing out on a universal, shared experience everyone else knew.

            But it didn’t seem to matter to Remus that he wasn’t experiencing the night quite the way he should’ve. He glanced to his right, at the window to the living room where the tree glowed, light falling onto the snow in a barrage of golden sparkles. A glance forward, at the stars and the house across the street, which had candles sitting in every window, and he felt a wave of cold air brush past him.

            The sweater he held around himself tightened, his hands gripping onto fabric until his knuckles went white. He didn’t notice.

            “Are you ever going to quit?” asked Remus, breaking through the silence. Sirius let out another puff of smoke on a long, strong exhale. He turned his head just as Remus did, and they looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

            “Dunno.” Sirius’ voice was gruff, tired. “Dunno if I’ll live long enough to. Might as well do it while I can.”

            A cold gust of air flew into Remus’ nostrils and back out again, warm. He turned his head more, looking Sirius over. Fuck, he was like... a temptation, personified. He was sharp, dangerous. Remus already had so many scars, what would be wrong with getting cut a few more times?

            “Hm.” A hum, short and blunt, came from him. Sirius looked him straight on, cigarette held in his hand loosely, arm draped over his knee. “I guess you have a point.”

            “Really?” Sirius chuckled, bringing the cigarette up to his lips again, holding it between his teeth, and said, “I would’ve thought you would’ve disagreed.” His spine straightened, he took in a breath, and let out smoke, the cigarette falling away from him again. “Told me something about not giving up on surviving.”

            “I’d never lie to you,” Remus heard himself say. The statement was heavy, loaded, and potent. Sirius closed his eyes, as if in his head he was pulling Remus’ words apart.

            When he opened his eyes again, Sirius looked Remus over. Remus’ knuckles got whiter. He spoke again, this time in control.

            “There’s a high chance we’ll all die,” he said, staring ahead again. Sirius’ eyes didn’t leave him. “But we can’t stop that from letting us live. And there’s the possibility we live to see the end of the war, but we can’t let that take over us. We have to accept both possibilities; plan for the future and know that there might not be one for us.”

            Turning again, Remus met Sirius’ eyes. “Live in the moment.”

            “Live in the moment,” repeated Sirius. His eyes held something horrible inside of them, but he blinked and it was gone. Remus glanced at the still-lit, almost gone cigarette, and held out two fingers in a ‘v’. Sirius shifted, then handed it to him, and watched, studying, as Remus brought it to his lips and took in a drag.

            His head fell back, jaw looking much more prominent, and let smoke blow from his lips. The scars on his face seemed to shimmer, white glowing against tan. A scratch on his cheek sat, red and scabbed, from only a few weeks ago (it hadn’t been ‘ _full moon-related_ ’). Eyes which had closed on his exhale fluttered open again, head levelling out to look at Sirius as he handed the cigarette back.

            In a whisper, Sirius said once more, “ _live in the moment_ ,” as if it had turned into his personal mantra the second it had fallen from Remus’ lips.

            The werewolf’s leg shook, foot bouncing silently, as his hands went back to gripping the inside of his sweater sleeves. Breathing out the last of the smoke, he hunched forward, looking at the ground.

            “Whatever that means for you, Pads, as long as you don’t get yourself killed in that moment.” _Fuck_ , it felt like forever since he’d been given that name.

            “I thought you said we have to accept the fact that we’ll probably die young?” said Sirius, monotone. He threw the cigarette onto the ground and stamped it out with his foot. Remus watched him out of the corner of his eye, mind racing.

            “That doesn’t mean I want you to.” Only because he forced himself, Remus stopped there. He would let what else he wanted to tell Sirius remain unsaid. It was easier that way, as things got more and more complicated, more and more dangerous. And he could tell it was all only going to get worse.

            Sirius licked his impossibly un-chapped lips and nodded. He didn’t know which way to respond, out of all the ways his mind told him. It wasn’t possible to say the right thing to that. And no matter how much he wanted, how much his fifteen-year-old self _screamed_ at him to, he didn’t move. Actions weren’t right, either. No matter how much he ached to do so.

            “You--” Remus cleared his throat, glancing at Sirius again. “You sleeping here?”

            Sirius nodded. He had the urge to light another cigarette just to give his fingers something to do. But he knew he had to stop _somewhere_ , so he shoved his hands into his pockets. Partially so he could just ball them up, partially to hide how they shook ever so slightly, and partially so they wouldn’t do what he wanted them to. So they wouldn’t reach out.

            “Yeah,” said Sirius, although he had already nodded. He glanced over at the window with the tree shining behind it. “You?”

            “D-- yeah.”

 

            The next afternoon, Christmas Day, Sage and Sirius sat around listening to _The Clash_ , the debut album by a brand-new band of the same name. Remus sipped tea, chatting with Peter, as James tacked a picture onto the wall, taken by August (who had to leave early, but enjoyed spending time with Sage and them for the holiday).

            In the picture, James stood with his arm around Sage. He wore his special Christmas sweater, the one with the stag on the front, and a giant grin. Sage had on the sweater Peter had just gifted her, with a deer on her chest and a fawn on her stomach, a mug of something hot in her hand. She smiled wide, her picture-self drinking from her mug occasionally and messing up James’ hair all too often, as if she were worried it would calm down (it wouldn’t).

            If only they could stay so happy.

 

            Sage and James stood, hand-in-hand, in front of Dumbledore’s desk, as he walked behind it. He swept past his phoenix and its perch, as the bird watched the Potters with wise eyes. As he approached his chair, he put his hand on it, and the other gestured to the bowl on his desk, full of individually-wrapped brown candies.

            “Toffee?” he asked. The both of them shook their heads, politely declining as he sat down at his desk. He peered at them over his half-moon glasses, hands folded atop his desk’s surface.

            “So,” he said, leaning closer, eyes twinkling, “I understand you have news?” Without giving them a chance to respond, he spoke again. “I must extend my congratulations to you. Starting a family is an experience like no other.”

            “Thank you,” said James, grinning. “We’re very excited.”

            “I would assume so.” Dumbledore gave a knowing smile that quickly fell. “But,” he began, darker, “there are matters I wish to discuss.”

            James’ grip on Sage’s hand tightened and they shared a look before focusing back on the headmaster. “That doesn’t sound good.”

            “Unfortunately correct, Mister Potter.”

            Sage took in a breath that shook all through her, unsteady. What was he going to tell them? A thought flickered through her-- the curse, the one which touched her bones when she walked through that wall. She hadn’t considered what the curse would do to her and her future child.

            “Well?” asked James, swallowing his unease and holding his head high. He knew he could do this.

            “There’s no better way to put this than to simply tell you two.” Dumbledore glanced at his phoenix and back at them. “You are in danger, as you have been for some time. As members of the Order of the Phoenix, you are especially at risk. But you have defied Lord Voldemort personally, multiple times - these are the facts.

            “You have been in danger,” he repeated, continuing to tell the two of them (their hands clasped tight, knuckles turning white), “but now, your family is at risk.”

            There was a pause, dramatic and heavy, that hung in the air for only a moment before he continued. Sage and James both felt it lasted much longer, minds racing, overtaken by worry.

            “As I have mentioned to the Longbottoms, this is not a time to go out and take risks. I am not suggesting you leave the Order, nor that you stop performing your duty, as these things are vital to aiding the war efforts. But, I suggest laying low for a while, keeping home often, and when you do complete missions, you ensure they are not too dangerous.”

            “So, are we basically going into hiding?” asked James before he could stop himself. Dumbledore hummed.

            “In a way, yes.” He stroked his beard, “not fully, but... it is similar. With regards to your personal, home situation, moreso. Less, when I ask James to continue his patrolling.”

            Sage considered this as Dumbledore continued, telling them to keep their home as safe as possible, and telling Sage she should work with Wendy while James continued to patrol. She felt many things about this, as although she knew it was the wisest decision (Dumbledore _had_ been the one to suggest it, and he was the wisest man she knew), she couldn’t help but feel a part of her protest.

            Yes, she knew the most important thing for her was to stay safe, to keep her child safe, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit... useless. Even if she helped Wendy, she wouldn’t be _fighting_. Sure, when she was in her late pregnancy, she would be practically unable to do such things, but... for a couple months, she thought she’d be fine. As long as she didn’t go on too crucial of missions.

            She was happy to be working with Wendy, at least. But _fuck_ , she wanted to be _out there_ , _doing_ things. Fighting the good fight. If she was to be by the side of one of her best friends, she hated to say, she’d want to be with James, to ensure he was safe.

            A part of her said “ _oh, well, Sage, you know it’s like they’re saying you’re useless and weak because of the baby_ ,” but she quickly shut that down. It wasn’t, no matter how much she might’ve felt like it was, like that. The stubborn part (most of) her wanted to yell at Dumbledore, “I can fight perfectly well, thank you! Fuck off, old man!”

            But Sage knew this was unrealistic (not to mention terribly rude), as he wasn’t doubting her, but wanted to keep her safe. She just wished she could do more.


	56. Fifty-Six

            “I hope they inherit Sirius’ singing voice.” Sage gestured to her stomach, though it had yet to show a single sign that anything was different. It was just like she remembered it every day for the past few years, no sign of anything living there (other than her, as it _was_ her body). “I know that’s not how genetics works, but... it should be.”

            With a smile, Sirius sipped his pumpkin juice, putting it down as he said, “I dunno, Sage, if you make me _godfather_ , then maybe.”

            “Yeah, that’s still not how genetics work.” Remus grinned, leaning back. His fingers drummed on his thigh as he said, “my question is, though, how are you two going to handle a small child when your biggest fight was over living room wall colour. You’re practicall-- Sage, I was kidding!”

            Sage, who had began to panic, glanced at James worriedly as Remus tried to hide a laugh.

            “You’ll be okay, Sage, I know you will. Even if you are children yourselves, sometimes,” said Remus. Beside him, Sirius mouthed to Peter “ _sometimes?_ ” Peter held back a laugh, shaking silently, mouth covered by his hand.

            “I hate you, Remus.” Sage huffed, crossing her arms and turning to James. Peter, who had just taken another sip of his drink, licked the corners of his mouth to catch the few drops of pumpkin juice which had fallen there, and leaned forward.

            “Oh,” said Peter, sitting up and taking his hand off of his mouth. James soothed Sage, petting her head. “Did you hear?”

            “What?” asked James, holding his wife’s face against his chest.

            “You and Alice aren’t the only ones,” he said, making Sage look up and pull away from James. “It turns out Lily’s pregnant.”

            This was a shock. Lily and Marlene had seemed like such a happy couple-- to think Lily had cheated on her... That was the only way she could’ve been pregnant, and while Sage was happy for her, she also anticipated the fallout would be nasty.

            But Peter didn’t seem bothered-- in fact, he seemed quite happy - excited, even.

            “They told me yesterday. Marlene’s thrilled, and--” A totally befuddled Sirius cut off Peter, holding out his hand to stop him.

            “Hold on-- Marlene’s thrilled?” he asked, leaning closer, strange and funny confused looks on his face. “Why?”

            “I was getting to that.” Peter rolled his eyes. “It turns out that they’ve been trying to make a test-tube baby for a while now, and they’ve finally gotten one to stick around and work.”

            “Ohh,” said Sage, James, and Sirius all at once.

            “So,” said Sage, about to ask Peter about 500 questions he didn’t know the answer to, “when are they expecting it to be born?”

            “I dunno. Around the end of July, I think...” Peter stared into the distance, hand on his chin, trying to recall all the things Lily and Marlene had told him (it was difficult, as they told him a lot of information, very quickly and very excitedly). “Possibly the middle? I don’t really remember the day. I think it was in the twenties, though. Definately July. Late twenties? Ugh, whatever.”

            “So she’s been pregnant for a while,” said Sage, nodding. Her own baby was due at the beginning of August, according to her doctor. “I bet they were waiting to tell people just in case it didn’t work out.”

            “Mm-hmm,” nodded James, adjusting his glasses. Light from the window fell onto them and reflected onto Peter’s eye for only a second, before James leaned back. Peter blinked, eyes not appreciating the sudden shifts in light.

            “They said they were going to wait longer,” said Peter, blinking once more. “But that with two other pregnancies being announced, they thought they might as well do it now.”

            “That’s good for them, though,” said Remus, all of the group making noises of agreement and nodding. “The Order’s got a whole club now, huh? Three different women, all expecting around the same time - you know, you and James in the beginning of August, Frank and Alice at the very end of July, and Lily and Marlene sometime around the end of July.”

            “Yeah, really.” Sage laughed, wringing her hands in her lap slightly. “I guess we’ll have to set something up with our babies, won’t we? We’ll have to get together and have playdates or something. They’ll all be going to Hogwarts at the same time, already friends. Won’t that be nice?”

            James nodded, a grin covering his lips as Sage spoke to him. Both of them ignored the possibility of the war stopping this dream, as they seemed to agree - _this can’t go wrong._

            “Do you think Dumbledore’s told them to ‘lay low’, too?” asked Remus, head tilting to the side ever-so-slightly.

            Gnawing on her lip, Sage shrugged and looked at James. “Most likely, I’d assume so. If he told us to, and Frank and Alice...”

            “Dunno.” James grinned, unable to stop his mind from thinking and making him so excited for the future. For so long, he’d been _wanting_ this, and now, he was _there_ , getting it. He couldn’t really sit still, if he was honest. It’d only been a month or two, and he didn’t know how he was supposed to wait any more. He wanted it all, all at once. In a day, he wanted the joy from having a brand-new baby, the adventure of navigating life with a rambunctious toddler, the thrill of teaching a kid to do things, the pride from seeing them grow up, the happiness from getting to know a whole new being. But he had to wait, and experience it all as it came.

            “Have you two been thinking about names?” asked Remus, sitting back and taking another sip of his pumpkin juice. Sage and James glanced at each other and back at Remus before they shrugged at the same time.

            “Maybe,” said Sage, “not really. Bit early, honestly. I think my parents didn’t decide what to name August until he was already a month old.”

            “What did they call him during that month?” asked James. Sage shrugged.

            “‘Baby’ or something. Dunno.” She looked at James again, “we aren’t doing that, though.”

            Nodding quite aggressively, James agreed. “We’ll find a name at some point. Hopefully sooner rather than later, but we’ve got time.”

            “Have you decided if you’re going to figure out the gender or not?” asked Peter, who had the other day inquired about the same thing (he’d asked James, who had shrugged and said, ‘we’ll see what Sage wants. The thing... the thing that tells what it is, made by that woman... what was her name? Mrs. Lovelock? Whatever, we could get one of those potions or whatever she sells that tells what sex it is’).

            “Most likely not,” said Sage. “Wendy’s schooled me in gender stuff, so I don’t really care. If you want to know though,” she turned to James again, “maybe.”

            “Eh, I’m good. Wendy’s gotten to me, too.” James grinned, putting his arm around Sage’s middle. “All that stuff about gender not being real and ‘not raising your child within traditional gender roles’ put me off it.”

            Sage smiled, remembering the other day, when she’d told someone else (the Prewett twins) and they’d told her their sister was expecting, too, around the end of February, beginning of March, and asked, “do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Wendy gave them a long speech about why nobody should care (“does it matter? Raising a child while following strict gender roles is harmful, if not to mention idiotic. Let little boys wear dresses and little girls--” Sage cut her off, saying, “Wendy, calm down, it’s okay, love.” Wendy huffed, finishing as Sage pulled her away, “gender isn’t real - it’s a social construct made up by humans, just like borders and time.” “Wendy, please, I know this, we’re ridiculous beings, please, let’s just go get lunch, I’m so hungry--”).

            “We will love them, whatever and whoever they are.” Sage smiled, patting her stomach weirdly. “As long as they aren’t a dick.”

            “And then we’ll still love them,” said James, putting his hand over Sage’s, “but will just... nudge them into being a better person. Nicely. Supportive.”

            “Truly, the best parents.”

            “Remus, I swear to Merlin--”

  
            “A year,” said James wisely, holding onto his wife’s middle as they lay on the floor of their living room. “It’s been a year, and I--”

            A knock at the front door cut him off. His head perked up, hair flying in all directions, and he began to stand, arms worming away from Sage, when the door opened and whoever had knocked walked in.

            “Ah,” said James as he lay back down, hugging Sage again. “Just Sirius.”

            Sage nodded, burrowing her face into his chest as they listened to the footsteps go down the hall a few steps and stop at the doorway to the living room. As James and Sage both assumed, it was Sirius, with a bag in his hand. The tan fabric was obviously very full, stretched over the objects in the bag so corners and sides and other strange hints of the bag’s contents were visible.

            “Why are you on the floor?” came Sirius’ voice, still in the doorway. He put the bag on the floor and began taking off his leather jacket, folding it over his arm and picking up the bag again, spare hand brushing through his hair so it all fell to one side.

            “Because. Dunno.” James closed his eyes, nose touching the top of Sage’s head. He breathed in, smelling her, and spoke again. “Why are you here?”

            It wasn’t unusual for Sirius to show up at their house - actually, quite the contrary - it was _expected_ for him to be there. He practically lived there, preferring to spend time at the Potter’s to hanging out at home. James was fun and Sage was nice to talk to, much more interesting than his neighbors. Often, a big black dog lounged on the Potter living room floor, asleep.

            But only yesterday, he assured them he wouldn’t bother them on their anniversary. He told them he had too many errands to do and wouldn’t be available, so they had nothing to worry about.

            _So much for that_ , thought James, who would regularly be thrilled Sirius was there. The boys really were joined at the hip, unable to leave each other’s sides for too long without feeling the pains of separation anxiety.

            As much as James loved his other friends (a lot - sometimes _too_ much, as was shown in his blind trust of them which sometimes got him into trouble. Like the time when Remus told him to turn left as he was running down a corridor at school, and James didn’t bother to look before he obeyed and ran straight into a stone wall.), Sirius had a special place in his heart. His brothers were dear to him, but Sirius was more like his twin.

            But this was a day where James wanted to be solely with Sage, spending a nice day in together. Nothing fancy. No Sirius.

            “I know it’s your anniversary and all,” said Sirius, leaning against the doorframe, “and I was going to leave you alone, but I decided I wanted to tell you what my present to you is.”

            “Oh?” asked James, one eye opening, his head slightly pulling away from Sage. “And what is it?”

            “I’m going to-- and don’t protest because I’ve decided and you can’t stop me-- decorate the nursery for you.”

            Sage, who had sat up when he cut himself off, looked him over with narrowed eyes. “You’re what?”  

            “The spare room you have-- I’m turning it into the baby’s room.” Sirius grinned. Sage, brow risen, glanced at James, who looked as if he had just woken up from a nap (hair all over the place, glasses crooked, confused facial expression - it was all there).

            “You’re decorating it?” Sage crossed her arms. Sirius nodded, holding up the bag in his hands.

            “I have stuff.” Sirius grinned. Although he wasn’t as excited as James, was thrilled there was a baby on the way. When his mind finally processed it, he got so enthusiastic that Sage told him that he was “too excited” and that “turning into a dog and running around my house doesn’t help anything. You’ve already broken a lamp.”

            “Oh?” It took James a second to stand up off the floor. Reaching down, he helped up Sage. “And what is this stuff?”

            “That’s just it--” Sirius’ grin got deeper and his stormy eyes cleared, a mischievous glint James knew all too well (he often shared the exact same look) showing up in his eye. “It’s a surprise.”

            A silence hung for the few seconds and the couple shared a look and a mental conversation.

            “So, you’re going to not tell us what you’re doing? What’re you going to do, lock yourself in the room and not let us see until you’re done?”

            “Ah, now you’re getting it!” Sirius stood straight, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll be the best goddamn nursery anyone’s ever seen in their whole, godforsaken, miserable lives.”

            “He’s going to blow a hole in the side of our house,” said Sage, completely monotonously, as Sirius walked off, his footsteps heard climbing up the steps. James grinned and sucked in air through his teeth.

            “Naahh,” he said, long and drawn out. “He’s going to blow _multiple_ holes in the side of our house.”

            Sage couldn’t help but burst into laughter when she looked up at him and the face he made (like he was channelling the version of himself who set McGonagall's desk on fire).   


            “Have you got it? Ah--” Sage handed Remus a smoking goblet of wolfsbane, just as she had been doing every month. He took it from her, closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath before he brought it up to his lips and drank it all in one go.

            “ _Eugh!_ ” Remus pulled the empty goblet away from his mouth, eyes screwed shut, face scrunched up. His eyes opened and he handed the goblet back to Sage, “it feels like there’s some kind of poisonous slug slipping down my throat.”

            “Oh no,” said Sage, nose wrinkling up at the thought of it. Goblet now sitting on the table she used for preparing the potion, the Scottish girl crossed her arms. “That sounds horribly disgusting.”

            “Mm-hmm.” Nodding, Remus wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, “God, I wish I could add something to make it less fowl.”

            All Sage could do was shrug. They both knew adding sugar made the potion ineffective, no matter how much they didn’t want it to.

            “Sucks,” said Sage bluntly. A big part of her was very glad she never had to try the potion, saving her from a little extra suffering.

            With another nod, Remus glanced at the door and back at Sage. “James still out?”

            “With the Prewitts, yeah.” James had gone on a mission with Fabian and Gideon only hours before. Sage, no matter how much she tried to preoccupy herself, couldn’t stop her mind from wandering back to him and how he was faring. “I’m sticking around, helping Wendy some more. What about you?”

            “Dumbledore’s asked me to do something for him.” With shifty eyes, Remus looked at the floor. “Can’t tell you, I don’t think. Sorry.”

            “That’s okay, Rem, you don’t have to tell me anything. I hope it works out well, though.” Sage smiled at him in a way that made him feel a whole world better.

            He didn’t want to do all the things Dumbledore was suggesting. Sure, it would help the war effort, and he _would_ do it all, but fuck, when Dumbledore had told him... his mind just kept telling him, _remember all the things he’s done for you, remember all the things he’s done for you..._

            He’d do it. But he couldn’t help the fear rising in his chest, the overwhelming terror that something would go wrong - that he’d lose himself, turn into one of the werewolves on Voldemort’s side, who think they can have better lives through him. They were wrong, plain and simple.

            And even if Voldemort delivered to them the life they wanted, at what cost would it come? Yes, Remus wanted to not be persecuted for this thing he couldn’t control, but if him being treated better meant the deaths, torture, and mistreatment of an even larger group of equally if not moreso innocent people, he wouldn’t support it. He didn’t even _consider_ the _possibility_ of supporting it, not even for a second.

            “You okay, Moony?” stepping closer, Sage gazed at Remus, into his eyes. A harsh nod and a simple affirmation came from him.

            “Just tired, you know. My neighbours had a party last night and my silencing charms kept failing.” It disturbed him how easily lies fell from his lips. “But I think that was just because I was so tired when I cast it. Tonight should be better.”

            “Alright.” It troubled him how easy it was for his lies to convince her. She trusted him. She really did.

            “You should go find Wendy.” Remus stepped back, towards the door. His words came casually, his mind working quickly in attempts to keep them so. He reached out, opening the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

            “Yeah.” The word barely reached Remus, travelling through the closing door. A sigh escaped him before he started off, heading down the hall determinedly.

            In her amateur potion lair, Sage sucked her teeth as she cleaned up. When she finished (mainly just cleaning the goblet Remus used), she headed out the door to where she knew Wendy would be.

            The hallway was narrow and bare as always, and the door to the main room squeaked as she opened it. Mostly empty, the room was just how Sage remembered it, with a large wooden table in the middle that took up most of the room, walls covered in multiple doors.

            Walking past the many doors (and keeping her eye on the one door that opened into a hallway, inescapable unless someone had the good graces to let you out, she got stuck in only weeks before. It was terrible.), Sage went past Moody and Jet, the only two people in the room, save her and Wendy.

            With a glance at the back of Moody’s head, Sage sat down next to Wendy. A chill ran down her spine which made her feel as if Moody was looking at her through the back of his head. She had to remind herself he had two normal eyes, and no matter how much he wanted it to seem like he did, he didn’t have eyes on the back of his head.

            Sage waved to Jet as he walked by in a hurry and turned to Wendy, who seemed to be in the middle of fifteen different things.

            Amongst multiple large books and piles of loose papers, a book was open Wendy didn’t glance at. The page it was open to was covered in tiny lettering, as if there was too much information to fit on one page. The title was bigger, large and bolded enough for Sage to read _‘Ministry Ordinance No. 180_.’ She caught a glimpse of the rest of it, but found it quite boring, and instead focused on the other things Wendy had, like the pamphlet advertising something Sage couldn’t read. It was upside-down to her, so she turned her head. When she understood, a pit of dread pooled in her stomach. ‘ _Muggles and Muggle-Borns and the Danger of Keeping them in a Wizarding Community_ ’ it said, followed by a passage.

 

_Muggles, known to all Pure-Blood Wizards and Witches as low-class and savage,_ are _a threat to all magical peoples_ world-wide _. Pure-Bloods are exactly what their name suggests - pure. Muggles and ‘witches and wizards’ born to them are, simply and factually, not. If one refers to the study done by a one Mr. Lockettal, it is obvious that any being related to those of non-magical blood is unworthy of being around those of pure blood._

_As is stated in Mr. Locketall’s study done on a group of Muggles, (who believed they were on a “television show” - a Muggle form of entertainment full of violence and filth) Muggles have twisted morals. They want to overtake the world, ridding it of Magic. The second they are informed that Magic is real (Mr. Locketall, brilliantly, Obliviated these Muggles after showing them a beautifully executed Avis Charm), they not only reacted_ negatively, _but turned violent. Is it not dangerous, if not foolish, to keep these creatures--_

 

            Sage stopped reading. Her eyes flickered to Wendy, who was biting down on her tongue as she scribbled onto a piece of parchment, quill held in her hand so tight Sage was surprised it hadn’t broken. The quill was taken off the parchment, dipped in ink, and went back to scribbling in a flash, Wendy’s arm moving in a blur Sage almost missed when she blinked.

            Picking up the pamphlet, Sage opened it up to glance at the rest of it. Sick to her stomach, she read another snippet.

 

_I went further in my search, though. I couldn’t believe what the study had said. “Muggles can’t be that terrible,” I told myself. So I became determined to prove their innocence. I found a lovely, Pure-Blooded Italian witch, Mrs. Kirpie Lione (well-known in her community for her poise and famous apricot-jam-cookies), who told me a heart-breaking story over tea. Her voice shook with the horror of remembrance, tears leaking into the tea she’d prepared for me. I reached out my hand to comfort her, and she told me, through her tears, her story._

_“I was walking down the street, just as I did every other Sunday. It had begun to rain, I noticed, but I was in a very heavily Muggle-populated area, you know-- the burrows. My husband told me not to_ go, _because it was so dangerous, but there’s a bakery there that sells what are simply the best pumpkin pasties. I can’t help myself!_

_“But, as it began to rain, I walked by an alleyway. Inside, I noticed a small little girl, huddled up, trying to keep out of the rain. Oh, well, I can’t just do nothing, you know, when there’s a child in danger. So I approached the girl, who shook from cold, and asked her if she wanted any help._

_“She told me ‘no’ in a firm voice, but I didn’t believe her. From closer up, it was obvious she was homeless - certainly abandoned by her parents and left for dead on the streets - and I just couldn’t leave her there, you know.”_

_Mrs. Lione tears up once more as she tells me the story, eyes glistening. The air of her lovely sitting room goes cold, and she continues._

_“But when I got closer, the girl looked behind me, and before I knew it, I’d been attacked by some street-wise men! They took out a large branch and began to hit me with it, calling me all sorts of names-- oh, it was horrid! I still cry when I think of it! The girl watched on as they beat me half-to-death, a smile on her face!”_

_Mrs. Lione, thankfully, made it out okay, using her wand to Apparate home. Her husband brought her to St. Mungo's and the Healers there fixed her right up. The filth who attacked her_ are _still at large._

_An innocent old lady, brutally attacked, just because she wanted to get some pumpkin pasties. Surely, nobody can hear her story and still believe Muggles and Mudbloods are harmless. If so, they simply need to see the way Mrs. Lione looks off into the distance, as if wishing for solidarity between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, while she tells her story._

_I’m sorry,_ Kirpie _, but that simply won’t happen, as much as we all wish it would._

 

            “Oh Merlin, this is terrible,” said Sage in a quiet whisper, mostly to herself. The aggressive scratching beside her stopped as Wendy looked up.

            “That’s not even the worst part,” she said, words dripping with disdain. This was the maddest Sage had ever seen her. Wendy shuffled around a few of the papers around her until she found a booklet underneath them and handed it to Sage, gesturing for her to read it as she went back to scribbling furiously.

            This booklet, small and thin, was very obviously geared towards children, with bright colors and pictures covering most of the pages. The few times there were words, they accompanied the pictures, saying things like “ _it’s strange to think that Billy isn’t pure, he always seemed so nice! But Billy is a Mudblood and will cause chaos as soon as he goes to Hogwarts!_ ”

            “Merlin...” Sage flipped the page, reading another about a little girl whose friend used magic for malicious purposes. The little girl realized her friend was really Muggle-born, called her a slur, and ran away. “What the fuck?”

            “They’re making these to give to children! Small children! To convince them that Muggles are vicious!” said Wendy as Sage read another page (“ _Sally thought she was friends with Jonah, the boy she met at the park when her mother looked away. When she went back to the park, Sally showed Jonah to her mummy, and her mummy pulled her away and took her home. Sally asked, ‘mummy, why did you do that?’ Sally’s mum replied, ‘that was a Muggle! He had a weapon behind his back, you just didn’t see! Muggles are dangerous!’ Wisely put, Sally’s mum!”_ ) in horror.

            “This is... fuck, they’re making literal propaganda now.” Sage closed the booklet, unable to read more. “The Death Eaters?”

            Wendy nodded, turning back to her parchment to continue writing on it. “They’ve been putting this together for a while now, it’s obvious,” she said without looking up.

            “Fuck,” said Sage, in awe. Her hand rest on her stomach and she asked, “what can I do to help?”

            “I’m writing to Barty Crouch again. I don’t like him, but he’s... effective.” Wendy made various facial expressions as she spoke, as if she was talking to the parchment she continued to scribble on.       “I’m hoping he doesn’t just repeat his token ‘kill first, ask questions later’ thing, because _shit,_ I hate that. But... we’re on good-ish terms right now, so...”

            “Good-ish?” asked Sage. Wendy stopped writing, looking her parchment over and at Sage.

            “Yeah. Like, he doesn’t _like_ me, but I think I’ve finally got him to respect me, somewhat. It’s been hard. The whole... _me_ thing takes a while to deal with, I guess.” Wendy rolled her eyes. Sage knew what she was talking about. Wendy was a trans, black woman. Not the first person Barty Crouch, an old white man, would be respectful of.

            “That’s... good.” Sage leaned her elbow on the table, pushing the propaganda shit away from her. “Hopefully someday, you’ll be ahead of him.” Wendy rolled her eyes again, and Sage insisted, “it’s possible! You’ve been moving on up through the Ministry, getting your name out there and working hard. I’m proud.”

            “Thanks, Sage. Normally I’d feel all nice and fuzzy, but this fucking bullshit staring at me isn’t helping.” She gestured to the table, where the booklet and pamphlet sat, like two black dots on history. “I hate this.”

            Sage held her tongue, nodding. Wendy’s opinion in this was more important than hers.

            “Anyways, have you seen August lately?” changing the subject, Wendy put down her quill.

            “We’ve been hanging out a lot, yeah, when he can.” August had been very busy with all the missions Dumbledore gave him.  

            “I don’t really...” Wendy let out a breath, brow furrowed. “You know how things had been getting better, with how people in the Order treat him?”

            Sage nodded. Since he had joined, Sage’s brother hadn’t been held in very high regard by many members of the Order of the Phoenix because he had been in Slytherin when he was at school.

            “I’m pretty sure it’s getting bad again. I dunno, I overheard Malik talking about how none of the Death Eaters should’ve known about the Prewitts being at the Kirat Manor.” Wendy said, in a whisper, leaned in to talk to Sage. “He said something about how only the people in the Order would’ve known. Hegagot was like ‘do you think someone’s betraying us?’ and Malik was all quiet but I saw him nod over to August.”

            “Shit.” Leaning back, Sage rubbed her eyes. She leaned back in again, staring at nothing. “Of course. The second they have any hint of anything suspicious happening, they make it his fault. I heard about that, too-- the Kirat Manor thing, and it wasn’t _that_ weird the Death Eaters showed up. Malik’s making stuff up to blame on August-- they’ve never liked him.”

            “Exactly. I’m hoping it’s just them doing that. But I don’t know, right, because it’s not like people are going to tell me, and they for _sure_ won’t tell you.” Wendy’s eyes flickered at the door, as if she expected it to open and for Malik to walk out, shouting out slander.

            “It’s bullshit.” Sage shrugged, scowling. Both her and Wendy sat silent, thinking. After a moment, Sage had a thought. “Do you think there could be a spy? Not naming names, just... in general?”

            Wendy let out a low exhale. “I don’t know. I hope not, but my hope doesn’t mean anything. If there is...”

            “We’re hard-pressed to fix it.”


	57. Fifty-Seven

            “Hey, mum, dad.” James Potter sat down on the soggy grass in front of his parents’ tombstones. The wetness from the melting snow hit his pants but didn’t bother him, thanks to the charm he’d placed on them. He couldn’t be bothered to stand. He knew he’d be there for a while, there was no purpose in kidding himself.

            “It was Remus’ birthday yesterday, you know,” said James, eyes looking over the stone of the graves. It was smoothly cut, but still rock, so it had the choppy surface even the neatest stone had. It was cold underneath his fingertips as he traced the grooves of their names and of the dates below them. Sometimes, his shorter nails would brush against the stone. He didn’t like that. It was like a silent noise of... _bad_.

            “Sage didn’t come.” James traced the date at the bottom of all the carvings. It was the same day, but a year prior. “She wanted to, but... you know.

            “‘You shouldn’t go alone,’ she said.” James looked up at the sky - a murky grey, covered by clouds. A bird flew by overhead, in a hurry to get to someplace sheltered. “But I didn’t feel like she should. Took some convincing. She threatened to follow me, but I couldn’t let her.”

            James supposed he didn’t have to tell them his feelings, that they’d already know. But he still told them what he _really_ wanted to. “She’s doing well. The baby’s going fine-- nothing’s changed since last week.”

            He’d made these sort of visits a habit, in the past months. For a while, he’d been unable to go see them - it was like his soul refused to set foot on the graveyard’s hallowed ground - but the first time he was finally able to bring himself to visit, it was like he left all of his troubles there. He buried his problems with his parents, in a grave no one could see.

            Sage didn’t get anything from it, really. She wasn’t like him, wasn’t comforted by graveyards (in fact, she found them quite boring, but good places to explore). But she would go along, as moral support, so he could be comforted by one of the living.

            It was a mystery to him, why he got so much out of graveyards. By all accounts, they’re not comforting places. Many of them can be unsettling - including the one his parents were buried, which was haunted by a fair number of moody ghosts (including one, named Sarah, who died in the 17th century and would tell anyone who’d listen about how her love had abandoned her for someone else, so she’d died of heartbreak. This wasn’t true - she died because she fell into a pond while drawing water and didn’t know how to swim).

            But he did get things out of them. Through the dramatic ghosts and the toppled gravestones, he found an underlying layer where he could bury his problems and leave them for dead.

            “We’re starting to think of names,” said James, voice steady, as he moved his legs around to be more comfortable. “Can’t find any, right now. The middle name will be either mine or hers, but we want the first name to be something new.”

            A grin wormed onto James’ face as he remembered, “and we won’t be calling it something funny, like Wilberforce. No matter how much Sirius tries to get us to.

            “He’s good, too-- Sirius.” James looked back down at the stones in front of him and folded his hands together. “Staying in trouble. The usual.”

            Clattering of stone falling onto stone sounded from behind him, but his eyes saw nothing there. He was sure there was something watching him, but he didn’t care. This was his time, time for him to visit his parents, and if some asshole ghost wanted to spy on him, he didn’t care.

 

            As it always did, James’ birthday came on the 27th of March. It was quiet, as they were laying low, and celebrated at their home in Godric’s Hollow. Sage, whose baby bump had began to look more like an actual baby bump and less like she’d just put on a little weight, was trying her hardest to stop the Marauders from tearing the house apart. It was after the third time she saw a stag in her living room when she finally made them all sit down (“in _human_ form, Sirius!”) so James could open presents (he couldn’t really object to this).

            “So, putting aside how I should be exempt from giving you anything, as I am carrying your child--”

            “Sage, please!” James, distraught, grabbed at Sage’s shirt, begging. She rolled her eyes and pushed his hands away, telling him:

            “Shut up-- I wasn’t done, James, Merlin-- anyways, I _should_ be exempt, but, out of the goodness of my heart and because my love for you transcends my laziness, here--” Sage handed James a box wrapped in blue paper he grabbed at, ripping it open.

            From his spot on the couch, Sirius leaned back, smirking, and sighed. He commented on Sage’s gift, saying, “‘s nice, Prongsette--” Sage rolled her eyes at the nickname-- “but, I must say, I’ve outdone you. I’ve outdone all of you. I’ve outdone _myself_.”

            “Oh?” asked Sage, brow raised. “And what’ve you done?”

            “Are you sure you’re ready, Sage?” With his smirk unwavering, Sirius eyed her. A ripple of excited confusion flew through James’ chest.

            “Just get on with it, mate! What is it?” asked James, eagerly sitting up. Sirius looked at James with hooded eyes and his smirk got somehow even cockier.

            “It’d be best to show you.” Sirius stood suddenly, walking out of the room. For a second, nobody moved, but then all four of them shot up and followed after the boy as he walked down the hall, up the stairs, through the other hall, and into the room he’d been working in the past month.

            Just barely over a month before, Sirius decided to decorate the nursery, and in that, he decided he would be the _only one_ doing so, and everyone else was barred from setting foot in the room before he was done. Sage and James hadn’t seen into the extra bedroom since the middle of February, as Sirius had charmed the door to not let them in (“It’s a secret I’ll guard with my life,” he’d tell Sage whenever she asked how things were going. After a week or two, she and James decided Sirius was most likely just hanging out in there and smoking or something, but they’d deal with that later on).

            Wand pointed at the closed door, Sirius cast a spell without speaking (Sage had always been impressed with his skill in nonverbal spells) that caused a small and modest yellow light to fling at the door. The wood glowed faintly for less than a second, yellow fading away.

            Reaching out for the doorknob, Sirius looked back at them with a face taunting them, as if he were asking “ _you fucking ready for this?_ ” and telling them they weren’t (perhaps suggesting they were about to get their minds fucked).

            The room had been completely changed from what it was in February. White walls and bare floor had been erased, and the room no longer seemed like an empty canvas. It was welcoming and warm. It had light inside of it, a hopeful feeling, as if Sirius had put every single fiber of his optimism into the room, so it was imbedded in the very fabric of the universe where it existed.

            Seeing the nursery seemed to hit Sage, more so than anything else had, as a reminder of what was happening. She was going to have a baby, soon. Her world suddenly seemed much more real.

            The furniture was all beautiful and lovely, and sure to be useful in the future, but the star of the show, the thing eyes were drawn to, was a mural on the left wall. It was a forest, obviously, with all types of creatures inside of it, hiding behind tree trunks. A step closer, and it was even more awe-inspiring. The detail in the tree trunks, the leaves, and the creatures was meticulous and beautiful. It was clear Sirius had spent days, weeks, or more, slaving over the painting, trying his damndest to make the best thing he could.

            Above a mahogany crib, against a wall and between two windows, hung a mobile, with animals moving on it. A wolf, chased by a dog, ran after a rat, who followed a stag, trailing after a doe, between them, a fawn (Sage pointed out to Sirius that she wasn’t a doe, and there should’ve been two stags, but Sirius had just groaned for multiple seconds and said “It didn’t work with the aesthetic, Sage, come _on._ ” Sage had grinned, and told him she loved it either way).

            James looked over a poster with the alphabet written on it, with each letter standing for a word. A, for ‘alchemy,’ B for ‘broomstick,’ C for ‘cauldron,’ and so on. It was strange to James that so many of the words were for somewhat advanced vocabulary words (he could get ‘O for owl,’ but ‘V for vapour’ was... an interesting choice).

            “This is…” Sage spoke in a wispy and awe-stricken voice, unable to find the right word. Slowly spinning around to take it all in, Sage couldn’t even find it in herself to smack Sirius for the smug look on his face.

            “Holy shit, mate--” said James, ignoring the part of him that wanted to say “ _so, like, where’s my_ actual _present?_ ”

            “Amazing, right?” Sirius, cockily standing against a wall, tried to hide the utter joy he had from hearing the praise they then all gave him ( _god_ , he was so much of a dog. If his human self had a tail, it would’ve been moving at the goddamn speed of light).

            “Now we just have to figure out everything else, before the baby comes.” Sage looked down at her bump, slightly protruding from her stomach. “We have so much shit to do, but at least we don’t have to do this.”

            “Really, Padfoot, this takes a load off our shoulders. Thanks, mate.” James pat Sirius on his back (more of a slap, really) and grinned. “You know what I’m in the mood for, now?”

            “A butterbeer?”

            “Exactly.” A pause as he noticed his wife’s unhappy face. “Oh, come on, Sage, it’s not that bad--”

            “James, shut the fuck up.”

 

            “What the bloody hell is _that_?!” the words came from Sirius very quickly the second he caught a flash of ginger fur out of the corner of his eye. He stiffened on the couch, angling his body to keep watch on the thing on the floor, as if he wanted to be prepared if it jumped up and attacked him.

            It walked across the floor towards him, rubbing up against the bottom of the table legs, nearing. Sirius was unable to take his eyes off of it.

            “Oh, we found a cat.” A tired and quite pregnant Sage sat down onto the armchair beside the couch, watching Sirius with amusement. “I think it lives here, now.”

            “You did _what_?” without taking his eyes off the creature, Sirius sputtered. “How _could you_?”

            “How could we what? Have a cat? I mean, it’s not like we could get a _dog_. We already have _you_.” With a chuckle, James added, “would you’ve been more upset if we got a dog or a cat?”

            Sirius seemed to consider this for a few seconds before he huffed, posture relaxing somewhat. He watched the cat out of the corner of his eye with crossed arms.

            “You still didn’t have to get a cat,” he murmured. Sage rolled her eyes and placed her hand on her stomach.

            “We didn’t _go out_ and _seek_ a cat--”

            “Yeah, we’re much more Chasers--”

            “James, shut up, oh my God.” Sage attempted to seem annoyed, but was betrayed by the obvious amusement in her tone. “Anyways, we found it in the garden. He’s only a few months old.”

            As Sage spoke, the cat got closer and closer to Sirius, almost touching his pant leg. James watched Sirius stare at the cat like a child who just learned of a new sibling and tried very hard not to laugh.

            “We haven’t come up with a name, because we didn’t really expect for it to stay. We let it in last night and it just... hasn’t left.” The cat had began to sit back on its hind legs at the foot of the couch, gearing up to jump.

            “He’s quite pretty, isn’t he? Like a baby lion.” As Sage said this, the cat jumped, a wad of ginger fur flying onto the couch cushions beside Sirius, who didn’t move, but glared all the same.

            “His face is all scrunched up,” said Sirius, as the cat took a step closer to him and sat, facing him, seemingly interested in the boy. “Like he’s ran into a wall.”

            “Everyone has their faults, Sirius, don’t judge him.” James, leaning back, felt like he should’ve had a pipe in his hands. He didn’t know _why_ he suddenly felt a strong urge to smoke from a pipe - he’d never done so before - but he did, which caused him to wonder: what would pipe-smoking-James-Potter be like? It _was_ certainly a ‘dad’ thing to do. Perhaps he should buy a pipe.

            “And his legs? They’re all... weird.” Sirius seemed to eye the cat in attempts to find parts he didn’t like, but his voice came out uncertain and strange. He narrowed his eyes in another glare at the creature, “and... his fur’s all... _mangy_ \--”

            The cat stood up again and took another step closer, its front right paw sitting on Sirius’ thigh. It was tiny, and quite adorable. He looked up at Sirius with his scrunched-face covered in messy, ginger fur, and meowed.

            “Oh, that’s just not _fair_ ,” said Sirius upon hearing the small noise the cat made. It was soft and squeaky, as the cat was still young (though not very little), and _awfully_ precious.

            Sirius melted so obviously that Sage and James could watch his heart turn into goo. But, Sirius, ever the drama queen, clenched his fist. He had the urge to pet the cat, but his willpower... he couldn’t. What kind of a dog would he be then? (Surely, if Remus had been there, he’d have said something to remind them all, “Remember when we were at school and Sirius would seek out cats just to pet them, but whenever we confronted him about it, he’d lie? But he’d have fur on his robes, and we knew what was going on? There was that one time where we followed him with the cloak and caught him red-handed, as he pet Marlene’s cat, and he genuinely tried to convince us she’d slipped him a love potion - not Marlene, the cat. He _really_ thought we would believe a cat tried to use Amortentia on him, the prick.”)

            There was a stare-down between the two animals as the cat didn’t move, and Sirius was frozen. But the cat didn’t seem to care that Sirius wasn’t in the mood and decided to do something. So the cat, both front paws on Sirius’ thigh, head-butted his arm softly and lovingly.

            It was _adorable_ , and Sirius couldn’t help himself, fingers finding their way up, before he knew it, scratching behind its ears. The cat leaned its head into Sirius’ touch, eyes closing as he purred in happiness.

            “So, you hate him?” asked James, grinning. He’d moved his mind off of the weird pipe thing, and watched his best mate start to coo at the cat, who had sat down to better enjoy the scratches he was receiving.

            “James, love, I don’t think ‘hate’s a strong enough word,” teased Sage, hand on her chin. “Despise? Loathe?”

            “Detest?” James, playing along, felt less and less like a pipe-smoking father and more like a clever (and dickish) seventeen-year-old.

            “Abhor?”

            “Scorn? Flout?”

            “Turn up his very not-scrunched nose at?”

            “Regard with such disdain he finds its very presence an insult?”

            “I _hate_ both of you,” said Sirius, who had a cat laying on his lap, his hand petting it slowly. “How about I replace you with cats?”

            “Oh, come on, mate, you can’t replace a _stag_ with a _cat_ \-- that just doesn’t make _sense._ ” James rolled his eyes, grinning brighter than the sun. “But, then, replace a _dog_ with a cat? That’s plausible.”

            “You wouldn’t survive a day away from me, Jamsie. Poor Sage here can never provide the companionship brought about by a dog.” Sirius, who had become more relaxed petting the cat than he had been over a year, barked out a laugh, and let his mind quiet from its usual constant barrage of worry. Instead, he just thought about the cat, how soft it was, how it purred, and the feeling of its paws kneading into his thigh.

            “We could get another dog,” joked Sage. Both boys froze, heads snapping over to her in shock.

            “You _wouldn’t_ \--” said Sirius, at the same time James said:

            “We _wouldn’t_ \--”

            Sage stared at them. “Oh-kay,” she said, drawn out. If she’d been standing, she would’ve taken a step back to inch away from them. But she sat, so all she did was hold up her hands in surrender. “We won’t get a dog. We couldn’t anyway - Wendy’s allergic.”

            The boys agreed very ferociously to her first statement with aggressive nods. Sirius continued to pet the cat, who had fallen asleep on his lap. It took a few minutes to get the conversation back to where it was, as Sirius demanded Sage apologize (in a soft tone so he wouldn’t wake the cat), but it got there again.

            “So what _should_ we name it?” said James, leaning back once more. “It’s not as important as naming the baby, but it should have a name.”

            “Huh,” said Sage, thinking hard. The only thing coming to her mind was ‘Pickle,’ but she didn’t quite like that.

            “Lamdashank?”

            “What the fuck, Sirius?”

            Sage looked over at the boy who shrugged, “dunno - ‘s a name, ‘sn’t it?”

            “I don’t think so, no.” Turning her attention away from Sirius, Sage sighed. “What about... I dunno. All I can think of are the last names of our neighbors. Imogen, Chris, Artemis, Cruikshanks...”

            “What the hell was that last one?” Sirius was glad he hadn’t just taken a sip of something, as he certainly would’ve spit it out then. “Merlin, it was so Scottish--”

            “Shut up, you prick,” hissed Sage. “It’s ‘Cruikshanks’ and it might not be _pretty_ , but--”

            Sage decided to ignore him muttering, “it’s not,” under his breath.

            “--it’s a name, unlike ‘Lamdashank.’”

            “Sage, don’t bully me.”

            “I’ll do what I want, aresehole. In fact, James, why don’t we name our lovely new cat Cruikshanks?” Sage gave James a look that told him, very clearly, that this was not a discussion.

            “I think that sounds brilliant, love.” With a sideways look at the ginger cat, who still slept, James nodded.

            “Alright. Cat’s name, thanks to Sirius fucking Black, is Cruikshanks.”

            “Why must you do this to him? Look at him, the poor thing, all the other cats’ll make fun of him. He’ll have no cat friends. You’ve doomed him.”

            “He can tell them all to fuck off because his uncle will beat them up.”

            “Am-- am _I_ his uncle?” Sirius pointed to himself wearily. When Sage nodded, he grinned.

            “I will protect my darling nephew, no matter the cost.”

            “That’s the spirit, mate.”

 

            Sage awoke to sunlight streaming onto her face and a tiny creature dancing inside of her. Her baby, only a month and a half from being born, was a bundle of energy even while not technically its own being yet. The skin on her stomach bulged randomly as they moved around, clawing at the borders of its compounds in a manner that seemed genuinely scary to outsiders, like the baby was going to break free of her stomach, _Alien_ -style.

            Blanket still on top of her, Sage couldn’t see her bump, but she knew exactly what it looked like, as she could feel it so clearly. She pulled the comforter closer, wanting to stay in the mess of warm she was, and screwed her eyes shut, moving out of the sunlight.

            It was no use. Her unborn child was up and had decided she needed to be, too. Letting out a sigh, Sage opened her eyes and looked at James. He was still asleep, on his side, faced away from her so all she could see was his wild black hair. Soft snores came from him, evidence to his sleeping state.

            Ah, and her feet were still swollen. Fuck, she hated that. This whole thing was an ordeal, and she really wanted it to be over, and to just have a baby in her arms instead of her actual body.

            But there was nothing to be done, so Sage just lay there, soaking in the glaze of morning, and floated around in her consciousness for a while. Her bed was warm, her husband right there and a bit too much like a giant teddy-bear, and she was happy.

            Sage awoke again to a kiss on her forehead, followed by one on her stomach. The sunlight that had been streaming onto her eyes now fell on her chest, leaving her eyes free to open and look up at a grinning James. He stared into her eyes, glasses only just put on, with a warmth that filled her up. Crinkling at the edges, green met hazel.

            “Morning,” said James, voice raw and husky. Sage yawned and rubbed sleep from her eyes.

            “Morning, lovely.” Hands holding onto her stomach, Sage sat up with her back against the headboard with an ‘ _oof_ ’ and watched James closely. He was angelic, in all honesty. His skin, kissed by the sunlight coming through the window, shimmered, his hair flopping around messily, his smile unwavering and warm.

            James was having a bit of a moment. As hard as his brain tried to, it just couldn’t seem to deal with all of his emotions, as he looked over her. She looked so amazing, so happy, and so... _there_ , that he didn’t know what to do other than tell her, “I love you so much,” in a watery voice as he reached out to hold onto her.

            “I love you too, mon chou,” said Sage, causing James to groan into her chest, where he’d temporarily shoved his face.

            “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you speak French. I’m so lost but I love it.” James pulled his head away so he could look her in the eye. Sage wrapped an arm around him and let the other caress his face.

            “Tu es un putain d’idiot, mais je t'aime beaucoup.”

            “I have a feeling you just told me to fuck off.”

            “Not really.” Sage grinned, pulling James closer so she could kiss his cheeks. “I told you that you’re an idiot but I love you.”

            “Aw,” said James, crinkling up his nose as she placed a kiss at the end of it. “How sweet.”

            “French is the language of love, after all.”

            It took them a half hour to get out of bed, with all their bantering and wanting to go back to just laying together, but they eventually made their way into the kitchen, still in pajamas, where James cooked them up breakfast as he did every morning.

            As they ate their eggs, though, something unusual happened-- a knock at their front door. The two of them shared a look as they put down their utensils and waited a second. The silence revealed to them that it was most likely not Sirius, who would’ve just walked in (and announced himself. Loudly. Something along the lines of “THE WAIT IS OVER, I’M HOME, DARLINGS”).

            Wishing they’d bothered to put on actual clothes, James reached into his pocket to grab his wand, which he really hoped he wouldn’t need, but kept a grip on it just in case. Sage followed behind him, watching over his shoulder as he undid the locks on the door, opening it slowly.

            A wave of relief passed between the two of them, as they both sighed and visually relaxed when it was revealed to them that the person was none other than Albus Dumbledore. James’ hand left his wand, moving to gesture the man inside.

            “Dumbledore, what a surprise,” said James, closing the door as Dumbledore approached Sage. “We weren’t expecting anyone.”

            Sage and James make eye contact-- both of them felt exceptionally strange with Dumbledore in their house while they both still wore the clothes they’d slept in.

            “Can I offer you something?” asked Sage, leading the old man into the living room. “Cup of tea... anything?”

            “A cup of tea sounds marvellous, thank you, Sage.” Dumbledore smiled a warm, friendly smile and sent Sage off into the kitchen. The second she disappeared out of the room, Dumbledore turned to James, a completely different look on his face.

            “Is something wrong?” asked James just before Dumbledore grabbed him by his biceps and stared into his eyes frantically, seeming darker than James had seen him before.

            “There’s been a prophecy, James, and there’s a fair chance it’s about your child.” Dumbledore’s serious and cold tone led James to believe that this was not a happy thing and that this prophecy ended in much suffering. “I had suspected--”

            Sage had entered the room again, steaming cup of tea in her hands, causing Dumbledore to step away from James, who seemed quite traumatised. As she handed the old man his tea, she looked between the two of them before asking, “what’s happened?”

            Dumbledore gestured for them all to sit down, stroking his beard with one hand and sipping tea using the other. The dark and serious look he had gotten had not left, as if being with them solidified the reality that caused him to worry.

            “What’s happened?” repeated Sage, watching as Dumbledore, who had decided not to sit, paced in front of them. He stopped after a few seconds, putting down his teacup onto the coffee table and reaching into his robes to grab something.

            When he retrieved the thing he’d been looking for, he held it in front of them, looking at it where Sage and James could see. It was a crystal ball, they realized, with a base at the bottom of metal moulded into clawed feet. A slip of paper was tied to a part of the base with thin string. They couldn’t read it, but they saw how the crystal ball looked-- full of grey smoke, blowing about inside of the glass as if it was really just a ball full of smoke and nothing else.

            “What’s... what’s going on?” Weary and worried, Sage ignored her teacup and grabbed onto James’ hand. He held onto her, both of them squeezing the other like they were trying to cut off the other’s circulation.

            “My new Divination teacher delivered to me a prophecy,” said Dumbledore, gesturing to the crystal ball. “I fear it may involve you two.”

            Without saying another word, Dumbledore held the crystal ball closer to them. Sage and James looked from him to the ball and watched the smoke swirl, moving beneath the crystal, until a strange woman appeared in the smoke. She seemed eccentric, with large glasses and a look similar to a praying mantis.

            Her lips moved and the words she said reached out beyond the crystal so they could all hear it...

            “ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..._ ” said her wispy voice. It was as if the smoke forming her image was also forming her words, sounding faint and mystical.

            Dumbledore, in a swift and smooth gesture, placed the crystal ball back into his robes. Sage and James stared at each other, minds moving at the speed of light.

            Clearly, Dumbledore thought the prophecy was about their child. It was plausible, they thought. They had defied Voldemort three times, over the past two years. And the possibility of their child being born in the closing days of the seventh month, of July...

            “I don’t...” unable to comprehend, Sage stared at the ground.

            “There are three children whom this prophecy could be about.” Dumbledore continued to speak, seemingly miles away. “The Longbottom’s, the McKinnon-Evans’, or yours.”

            “Well, it _can’t_ be ours,” said James, unbelieving. His mind tried it damndest to come up with excuses, anything. If this was true, and it was about their child, certainly he was already resigned for death. “Our child’s due in the beginning of August, not the end of July. It can’t be--”

            “James, I’m afraid... things happen, the child could come early,” said Dumbledore, seeming much sadder than before. “It is a possibility--”

            “It _can’t_ be.” Desperate, James angled his body closer to Sage’s, holding her hand tighter than he ever thought possible.

            “James...” said Sage with a look up into her husband’s eyes, full of sadness and fear.

            “No.” Speaking firm and aggressively, James looked to Dumbledore. “What can we do to make it not true?”

            His question didn’t make any sense, he knew, but he didn’t have the energy to care. All he could do was try to protect them, his family, what he’d wanted all his life that was being threatened to be stolen right out from underneath him.

            “James, you must realize, if it was not about you, the prophecy has to be about someone else. If it were possible to make it not your own future, you place it upon someone else--”

            “I don’t care!” James felt horrible the second it came out of his mouth, but he couldn’t help it. The words burst from him like a firework, exploding in the air. Sage stared at him, eyes holding a different emotion at his words-- an emotion directed at _him._

            “Sage, come on, we can’t--” in a hurry to justify himself, James grabbed at her other hand. “It can’t-- we’ve only just started this, I don’t want to let it go-- it’ll tear our whole family apart, if he finds out, he’ll come after us, you know he will--”

            “James, please--”

            “I’m not saying I want anyone else to have this put on them! I just want us to be safe!” With a groan, James let go of one of Sage’s hands to run his fingers through his hair. He pulled at his black strands, chuckling in a manner far off from being humorous.

            “I know, honey, but... come on, calm down, please--” Taking her hands from him, Sage rubbed his shoulders, his back, and caressed his face, trying to comfort him through touch. “We can... we’ll figure it out, okay? Nothing’s certain, not yet.”

            “Lord Voldemort does not know.” Dumbledore spoke, silencing both of them. Frantic James calmed to listen. “The prophecy was heard only by me and she who said it, and she does not remember giving it. This crystal ball is the only record of it, and will soon be placed in the Department of Mysteries where the only two people who can retrieve it are Lord Voldemort and whoever the poor child happens to be.

            “If Voldemort does not discover the prophecy exists, he will not come after any of the possible children until they make themselves known as the Chosen One, which will likely happen when he has become of age and have been properly trained.”

            “Are you suggesting that we raise our child, if it’s him, with the intent of creating the perfect warrior against Voldemort?” asked Sage, holding onto her stomach.

            “It is unwise to tell the child about the prophecy, but to be aware of the possibility that your son may have to lead the fight against Voldemort.”

            “What kind of a life will that be?! Raising a child with the intent of creating a weapon-- perhaps it is in his fate, whoever he is, but he will still be a child! And to keep him in the dark about such a thing... do not force it upon him, but he should be aware of his possible future!”

            “I do not disagree with you, Sage, but the simple matter is, we do not know who the child is yet. There are the three possibilities which may be sorted down to one either in the coming months or in future years. For now, all we can do is pray this child lives in happiness until the prophecy comes true, and that they will have a long and happy life afterwards. We must do what we can to keep the children safe.”

            James and Sage really didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t taught to them, ever, how to deal with things like this... all they could do was hope, and try their hardest. Seeking protection and comfort from those they could trust and they loved, while not telling anyone about the prophecy, which proved incredibly difficult.

            Dumbledore left after telling them to keep this all a secret, “from everyone, no matter how much you trust them. The more people who know, the more likely _he_ will find out.”

            So James had to deal with not telling Sirius, even when Sirius asked him what was wrong. And Sage couldn’t tell August or Wendy, no matter how much she wanted their opinions in the matter. But, they both found some sort of comfort when they locked eyes with the four others.

            Lily, Marlene, Frank, and Alice all knew, and were going through the exact same thing. But nobody seemed to talk about it, the only reassurances sent not through words but through eyes that met across rooms.

            Sage and James didn’t talk about it much. What was there to say? False hopes? Unsure promises that might prove impossible to keep? But when one of them lay awake deep into the night, the other would offer comfort. It was all they could do, really, stay safe and keep sane.

            And neither Sage nor James suspected Dumbledore hadn’t shown them the whole truth. But the fact of the matter was that they hadn’t heard the whole prophecy. Dumbledore hid the crystal ball away before it could tell them the line, _‘neither can live while the other survives_.’


	58. Fifty-Eight

            It was hard being an extremely pregnant woman. Sage figured this out early on. She was eased into the comments from random people who she may or may not’ve known, but they got more and more as time progressed. And all the people who would touch her stomach... did they not realize social cues still stood in place when someone had a baby inside of them? Luckily, most people would at least _ask_ , but she’d still get random hands petting her stomach weirdly, sometimes belonging to those she didn’t even know.

            Sage was tired of it all, but she couldn’t bring herself to wish the baby came as soon as possible.

            James had found a new passion-- talking to her stomach. When they lay in bed, settling down for the night, he’d forsake any conversation with his actual wife, who could respond, in favor of laying so his face was as close to her stomach as possible. Sage found it very adorable, but ended up zoning out most of the time, as he’d tell the baby things she rolled her eyes at (on Sunday night, James spent so long giving a play-by-play of a Quidditch game he’d played in 6th year that Sage’d fallen asleep).

            But, she had to admit that she listened more intently than ever when he was in the mood to sing. James wasn’t a good singer - far from it, actually - but when he gave his rendition of ‘ _Every Little Thing’s Gonna Be Alright,_ ’ Sage fell, even harder, deeper, and stronger than she had ever thought humanly possible, in love with him. It was his way of assuring the both of them that, despite _everything_ , they’d be okay. They’d make it out of everything, scratched and bruised, but alive. They’d be okay. They _had_ to be.

            As the due date got closer and closer, Sage and James struggled to scramble things together. Most importantly, it seemed, they needed a name.

            It seemed as if everyone they knew had a whole list of possible names under their thumbs, ready to give them out. The amount of times Sage was approached by their neighbor, Bathilda Bagshot, she’d lost track of. Bathilda was a fan of old names, many of which she suggested to Sage before she decided they just _had_ to name it Aspera. She told Sage this all too often. Over tea, Bathilda would peer over the lip of her cup to slyly ask “chosen a name yet?” To which Sage would say no, so Bathilda would say, “I really liked that ‘Aspera’ name. Such pretty Latin.”

            Sage’s dislike for the name solidified without a hint of change when she discovered ‘Aspera’ meant ‘difficulties’ in Latin. Not exactly what one would want to name a child-- in naming them that, they might as well be asking for their child to have a hard life (or, as Wendy pointed out, give them hell. Perhaps Aspera would be a plague on her parents, taking far too much after James).

            _Maybe_ , thought Sage as she sat at the table in her kitchen with James on the other side, _we’re being too picky._

            They were saying words at random, as they popped into their heads. Words like ‘Astra,’ ‘Louis,’ and ‘Chlorophyll’ came from them and hung in the air of the kitchen. Perhaps, they hoped, one of the words would stick out to them, and they could be freed from this hellscape.

            “Blue,” said James, elbows rested on the table and head sitting on his clenched fists lazily. “Transylvania.”

            “Kendra,” offered Sage, leaned back in her seat, staring at the ceiling. “Malcontent.”

            “Hippolyta.” James paused, shrugging slightly and adding, “Hippopotamus.”

            “Magazine. Jurisdiction.”

            “Havanese. Bear.”

            A light tapping at the window snapped them both out of their warm dazes. Getting up from the table, James watched the owl outside watch him as he slid the glass open. The fluffy black owl flew inside, landing on the table, hopping around it happily before moving up to Sage, chirping at her.

            “Hello, Harold,” said Sage, petting the owl nicely. As Harold nipped at her fingers, Sage reached down to take the parchment tied around its leg. “I’m trying to get the note, Harry, sit still--”

            “Oh my-- Sage--” James stammered, turning around to look at her very suddenly, the window half-closed. He ignored the stream of warm air hitting his back from the outside and stared at his wife. The words that had been hanging in the air, the possibilities, all faded away to make room for the one name.

            No longer attempting to untie the note, Sage stared right back at James. It was an awe-stricken look they shared, the same thoughts running through each of their heads.

            _Harry_. It was so simple, so obvious, so... _perfect_ , neither of them knew how they hadn’t seen it before.

            Harold, the owl, was still trying to nip at Sage’s fingers, uncaring of the beam of ‘ _holy shit_ ’ the two humans had shooting from their eyes, meeting together in an invisible line. He chirped again, waddling around adorably on the table, and Sage’s eyes snapped away from James, breaking the connection.

            “Not Harold,” said James quickly as he sat back down across from Sage. The window stay open behind him, forgotten and unnoticed. “Harold’s an old man’s name--”

            “Or an owl’s--”

            “Right, yeah...” Stroking his chin as if he had a beard, James stared at the wood of the table, unblinking, looking at nothing. “ _Harry_ , though--”

            A grin wormed onto James’ face and he looked at Sage, whose mouth hung open slightly, her fingers still being nipped at (although Harold had begun to lose interest, as unmoving fingers were boring).

            “Harry.” Her own face breaking out into a smile, Sage stared at James for a second. They had another moment as if their faces formed a connection, but this broke when Harold’s nip was a painful one-- he’d only gotten a pinch of skin in his beak, resulting in a more painful feeling than when he nipped a significant chunk of finger.

            “Ah--” said Sage, pulling her hand away from the table quickly, grabbing the pained finger with her other hand. It had only hurt for a second, and there was no mark, only a bit of redness where she’d been pinched.

            Harold didn’t seem to notice, though, that he’d done wrong. He chirped again, hopping on the table as he had been.

            “You’ve got loads of energy today, don’t you, Harold?” Sage asked the tiny creature, who looked up at her with his yellow eyes. Seemingly remembering what she’d been doing, Sage reached down to Harold’s leg again, showing off his head as he tried to nip her again, and untied the string. The note uncurled slightly as the string fell away. Sage took the note in her hands, laying it flat on the table to read it.

 

_More possibilities: Yusef, Holly (I know you said you didn’t want to use her name, but it’s pretty. Our mum had a pretty name. You don’t even have to name them after her, they can just be named the same thing. I don’t know. It’s pretty!), Luna, Artemis, Xanthippe, Archaeal, Beauford._

_Also, lunch is still on for tomorrow - I’ll bring fruit & veg, but you two will have to do the rest, I haven’t got time. See you. -August_

 

            “He’s given us more possibilities,” said Sage. James grinned and scoffed.

            “Well, now we’re good on the name front.” Harold hopped across the table, close enough for James to scratch his head.

            “What if it’s a girl?” asked Sage. James’ grin fell.

            “Ah, shit...” he murmured, biting his lip. Looking at Sage wearily, he asked, “Harriet?”

            “Maybe.” Resisting the urge to laugh, Sage rolled up the note again. “Harry’s certain, but if we come up with something we like more than Harriet, we’ll use it, alright?”

            “Alright.” James nodded. He placed his elbows on the table and supported himself so he could look over the wooden edge, where he could see Sage’s stomach. Smiling at it, he said, “I hope you’re Harry.”   


            Severus Snape genuinely didn’t understand why life hated him so goddamn much. It was like every time he got a hint of something happy, he’d have it stolen away from him. Was he so doomed to live this life - a cursed life? The only joy he felt was not the kind he used to, the happy and warm, soul-filling joy. It was cold and left him just as hollow and empty as he had been.

            And while he sat alone in his home, Severus had nothing to do but think. Why wasn’t he happy? What had he done to deserve this? Nothing. It was not fair. But then, life was not fair.

            If life was fair, Severus would be with Lily and James Potter and his gang of goonies would be in Hell. But Lily was with her ‘wife’ and James Potter...

            James Potter was a pathetic, egotistical, and arrogant boy, but he was happy. What kind of justice was that? Potter, the big-headed bully, got to live the life he’d always wanted with a girl he loved while Severus got no love, no real happiness but the scraps left over by his memory.

            James Potter bullied him out of nothing but cruelty, and he was still out there. He’d married, a year ago. Him and his wife, the idiot Hufflepuff he’d brainwashed, were expecting a child. That should’ve been him.

            James didn’t deserve that life. It belonged to Severus, rightfully. _He_ should be the one happily married! He should be laying with Lily every night. He should be waiting for a child. He deserved James Potter’s life more than James Potter. James Potter deserved to rot.

            All Severus wanted was to be with her - with Lily. He didn’t care where, or what they were doing, as long as she was there, and with him, and _with_ him.

            Perhaps he should’ve found comfort in the fact that James hadn’t got her. James, who had been so obsessed with Lily, had to settle when she rejected him.

            He didn’t want to say ‘ _if I can’t have Lily, no one can_ ,’ but... If he couldn’t have Lily, James couldn’t. Nobody did. Well, nobody but Marlene, but... that wasn’t real, really. Severus didn’t know why Lily felt the need to go through with that all, but she did. But Marlene was disposable, she always had been.

            While James and Lily and all those egotistical Gryffindors fought with Dumbledore, Severus had made friends with the Dark Lord.

            Voldemort had taken a liking to Snape early on. Said he showed “natural talent for the Dark Arts” and that he would “make a good Death Eater” before he burnt a mark onto the inside of his arm.

            Mulciber and Avery, his school friends who had joined him, were made Death Eaters like him, but Voldemort didn’t find them as important as Severus. No, Severus he trusted. Severus he’d send to do things - Severus he’d listen to.

            The Hog’s Head Inn wasn’t the place Severus would’ve chosen for an interview, but he wasn’t Dumbledore. The headmaster was about to leave the possible Divination teacher when she went into the trance - Severus saw it all. Hidden in a corner, he listened to the first of a prophecy, about a boy who could defeat the Dark Lord.

            He didn’t hear the whole thing. Albus’ brother, the man who owned the Hog’s Head, found him eavesdropping and threw him out, but it didn’t matter. Severus told everything he’d heard to the Dark Lord, eager and bright-eyed.

            A boy, born to those who had thrice defied him in the closing days of July. Voldemort came back to Severus with the three possibilities, the three children who were not born yet but might be by July’s end.

            Frank and Alice Longbottom. Severus didn’t care for or about them. The only thing he knew was they were popular, well liked, and skilled. They’d been in their last year at Hogwarts while he was in his first.

            James and Sage Potter. _Oh_ , how Severus felt about this. Knowing James Potter’s perfect life would be crushed by the Dark Lord brought him a happiness he worried, really, made him a bad person. Sage was pathetic, and Severus hated her, as well. Whoever their child would be, the Dark Lord didn’t care, as he would strike him down.

            But the third. He hadn’t known. Marlene and none other than Lily, the love of his life.

            “Lily Evans?” he’d asked Voldemort.

            “Yes.” The response had come coolly and smoothly, sounding more like a hiss than actual English. “Why? I sense... hesitation. Tell me, Severus, why do you flinch when I say her name?”

            “I went to school with her.” Snape didn’t want to say it all. It seemed foolish, then, but if it would save her...

            “Is that all?” Tom Riddle’s expression remained icy and vacant. He always seemed so deep in thought, so wise.

            “No, my lord.” Severus untwisted his tongue. “She was stolen from me by that woman. McKinnon took Lily away from me, otherwise she would be by my side.”

            “You... care for her?” The way Voldemort said it was as if he genuinely didn’t know how he did it - as if the very idea of caring was foreign to him.

            “Yes, my lord.”

            “I see... but if this woman is to be the mother of the foretold child, you know what is fated for her.” A chill ran down Severus’ spine that turned him frantic, but he made himself seem as calm as possible. Outbursts were not something the Dark Lord tolerated.

            “My lord, if there was a way, to kill the child, but to keep her safe...” Severus’ eyes flashed, a dark feeling inside him moving to accommodate what seemed like light.

            “You wish me to save her?” Voldemort, thoughtful, eyed Snape. “But you resign her child to death?”

            “My lord, I only care for her--”

            “This is foolishness. If she dies, she dies. I will not be bothered with trying to save her for you if she puts up any hint of a fight.” Voice harsher and much more solid, Voldemort hissed at Snape.

            “I--” Severus knew better than to fight. The way to get what he wanted was not the way James Potter would’ve gotten it. He had to work logically and plan things out. “I understand.”

            A pause, and Severus added, “what are you to do? Attack each of them now, while they have yet to deliver the children, or wait until you’ve decided which is the true child?”

            Severus wasn’t listening, not fully. All he could hear, bouncing in his ears as if it were taunting him, was Voldemort assuring him Lily was to die if she tried to stop him. Out of the corner of his eye, the man Severus knew to be another of Voldemort’s closest confidants was moving.

            He approached Voldemort and said, “if I may offer my services, my lord, I think it wise to wait, to be sure of which child is the threat. Killing three pregnant women is much more to do than to murder one child.”

            “Yes... this makes sense.” Voldemort thought for a second before looking the man over. “Are you willing to take my side in this, although it could mean your sister and her child’s deaths?”

            Severus looked at the man, _really looked_ , and noticed... the same hair, similar eyes, the freckles... He hadn’t figured it out before, but he understood.

            The man showed Voldemort no hesitation when he said, “I am loyal to you, only, my lord. I do not wish for them to perish, but I understand the weight this situation holds and recognize if they must die for you to survive unthreatened, this is how it shall be.”

            “I respect this. Although I do hold a particular distaste for her, but I do not wish to separate you from your sister, August.”

 

            Dumbledore found out, thanks to a double agent, that Voldemort knew of the prophecy. This was concerning to him and to the double agent, who wanted to see the woman they loved safe. As soon as the agent left his office, Dumbledore went out to tell all three couples of the news.

            Things arose from this that caused their lives great trouble. First, they all went deeper into hiding, fearing the worst at any moment. Second, they were able to tell people of the prophecy. Friends and family found out and soon enough the whole Order was in the know. Although this caused a great deal of support to run their ways, it also meant that this was no longer something they could keep private business. Everyone knew, even those they may not’ve wanted to.

            Three, and this was more due to time’s natural progression, the women were all gearing up to deal with having infants who already had expectations. People looked to these children, who hadn’t even been born yet, and expected them to save the world.

            Sage and James had been trying to live life as normally as possible, but the fear of attack loomed. Protection spells were placed around the house, as warnings, and the reassurance that Voldemort would not be looking for them in the immediate future helped ease anxieties, but not by much.

            Sorting things out was an ordeal, as they still didn’t quite know how the hell to do baby stuff. Would it be okay sleeping in its own room, or would it want to be with them? How would it eat? They had to create a whole schedule, but they couldn’t really set it in stone until they actually had the baby with them.

            James, who had been referring to the baby as ‘Harry’ no matter how many times Sage pointed out it could be a girl, was facing an eerie sort of calm. He was ready, he thought (he’d soon be proved wrong, almost a week after the baby was born, but we aren’t there yet).

            Something that neither of them had started to think of, though, was pointed out to them by Bathilda Bagshot (who was still disappointed they hadn’t taken the name she suggested) as she was over for tea one afternoon.

            “Have you thought about the godparents?” she’d asked, causing Sage and James to look over at each other and say ‘not at all’ without opening their mouths.

            “Oh, uh, not really. We’ve been busy, with... other things.” Sage, glancing at James, tried desperately to seem more put-together than she really was for this lady who had her life together.

            Bathilda was not, in any way, convinced that these kids had their lives together (and if she was honest, she didn’t either. Life is hard. Who _actually_ knows what they’re doing? Nobody! Everyone’s lost, all the time! Life is chaos! Reject societal expectations! Don’t wear makeup! Own fifty different types of rocks! Nobody fucking cares! Live your dreams!).

            When they were alone, Sage and James took one look at each other and almost started screaming. How could they have forgotten? With the constant threat of their demise looming over their heads, _they forgot about what will happen when they die_? And Sirius, with his joking about it all the time... Merlin, they were idiots-- idiots who had no idea who to pick godparents.

            The first logical list of people was as such: family. Only one person fell in the category for godmother, so they decided to ask Wendy as soon as possible if she was up to raising their child.

            But the real challenge was with the godfather. Eliminating Remus, as he’d outright refuse the invitation, Sage and James also shoved Peter aside (“I love him dearly, don’t get me wrong, but _fuck_ , he’d be a terrible guardian.”) leaving them with the possibilities of either August or Sirius.

            James didn’t bother lying to Sage, and told her his immediate reaction, even before they started listing people, was to think of Sirius as godfather. Making it clear he loved and trusted August, he expressed how much he really did want _his_ brother to be godfather.

            Sage was conflicted. So, she had to admit she loved the idea as well, but when she thought about it... well, at first thought, she imagined the baby on the motorcycle, in its own tiny leather jacket (it was adorable). And as soon as the fear faded, Sage realized, _would that be so horrible_? Sirius wasn’t a fucking idiot, he’d be sure the baby was safe. He’d be an excellent support system... She wanted him to be godfather, as well.

            But her brother, who had practically raised her... she knew he, as well, would do an amazing job. But August was sure to be weary, as he had raised a kid, not an infant. Sirius was willing to dive in head-first and put all his energy into this baby.

            Another thing she thought was _what if it happened a month after it’s born?_ This caused her to imagine Sirius as he was at that moment and August as he was at that moment being named guardian.

            Sirius would drop everything, in an instant. He’d do what he could, but he wouldn’t go on as many Order missions as he had been. He’d make do, and the Order would adapt. His life would settle calmly and everything would be okay.

            August, however, was _so busy_ that Sage barely saw him. If he’d been given a child, who knows what would’ve happened to the Order... He was living somewhere temporarily, as he had been for a while, and he was living in chaos. Adding a child to that would be the tipping point on an already sinking ship.

            “Okay,” said Sage, looking at the floor and stroking her chin. James watched her closely, biting his tongue. “Wendy’s godmother-- if she agrees, which we know she will. And, although I love my brother, Sirius’ godfather.”

            The smile on James’ face could’ve lit up the whole earth better than the sun.

 

            It was Sage who decided they should talk to August, first - he was the one who she felt needed to know, before the others, as it was unconventional of them to have not chosen him. Telling him proved as difficult as she had thought it would be, tracking him down and finding a time to talk to him (she tried to make it seem as casual as possible. Sending him a note that said “ _we need to talk_ ” was a bit cryptic, so she settled for just asking him to come over and have tea).

            Sage poured him tea, sipping at her own and making sure he hadn’t just taken a drink when she told him.

            The first thing she had done was ask him, genuinely, if he was okay with not being godfather. August, terribly surprised by this question, took a second to process before he told her that he honestly didn’t want to be. (“ _I can’t even imagine raising a kid from so young. I just want the fun part of being an uncle where I don’t have to do any work but I still get the benefits,_ ” he’d said.)

            So Sage went ahead and let him know that they had decided to make Sirius godfather and Wendy godmother. August thought for a second before he agreed that this seemed like a good choice.

            James and Sage decided together to tell Sirius next, as he would be first-in-line to get the child. He was much easier to find. In fact, while they were sitting in the living room, about to send him a note to come over, the familiar crack of a person apparating startled James so much he jumped, a line of ink flying across the paper. It didn’t matter that he’d ruined the note, though, as Sirius had apparated right into their living room.

            After the regular introductions (“alright, mate?” “Alright. Alright, Sage?” “Alright.”) and such, Sirius plopped down onto the couch beside Sage. He kicked off his boots and put his feet up on the coffee table in front of him as he lay back leisurely. Then, as Sirius sat relaxed and unwound, James glanced at Sage before deciding the best way to say it was to say it.

            “So,” he’d began, causing one of Sirius’ closed eyes to open and fix on him. “We were talking and, if you’re okay with it, we want you to be godfather.”

            As relaxed as Sirius had been, in an instant he was the total opposite. Sitting up, feet on the floor, he leaned in close to James with wide eyes. “Are you kidding?”

            When James assured him that he was being nothing but honest, Sirius put on a grin that stretched ear-to-ear and told them, using strangely formal vocabulary, that he would wish for nothing less. (“Your invitation for me to become godfather of your child is both expected while remaining something which leaves me utterly flabbergasted. I am honored to even be taken into your consideration, and I agree wholeheartedly to your proposal, though I do wish I never have to deal with what is expected of a godfather.”)

            Wendy was the last to find out, and hers was the most dramatic of the reactions (surprising, isn’t it, considering she was up against Sirius). She was already over at their house, complaining about something Barty Crouch had done, when Sage had brought up her being godmother.

            She didn’t _collapse_ , per se, she - as she put it - “fell, randomly and unpreparedly.”

            When she’d gotten up, she asked Sage to repeat herself politely. Sage did so, making Wendy squeak strangely, staring at Sage with wide and confused eyes. As she fluctuated between asking “why do you want me to do _that_?” and “why don’t you think I’ll end up killing it?” Wendy almost screamed.

            Sage did her best in calming her down, giving it her best shot to getting Wendy to agree. She soothed her worries and convinced her that no, she wouldn’t end up killing the child on accident.

            That night, when James was having his one-sided conversation with Sage’s stomach, he told it, “we’ve got your godparents waiting for you. We can’t wait to see you. We love you.”


	59. Fifty-Nine

            Being woken up by a slightly-stressed James wasn’t really what Sage wanted, but she didn’t really get much of a choice. She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep-- she was half-laying, half-sitting on the living room couch, book lay open on her (gigantic) stomach. James was trying to smile at her, but he looked much too worried to be any kind of comfort.

            “‘T time’s it?” asked Sage, rubbing her eye. James didn’t need to answer her, as she turned her head to look at the clock. Midnight-- just past. What day was it? Only an hour ago it had been... what? The twenty-eighth? It was the twenty-ninth, and Sage was far too sleepy to think.

            “It’s Lily,” said James, taking the book off of her lap. He moved the bookmark to the page it’d been open on before he closed it, placing it onto the coffee table. “She’s gone into labour.”

            “What?” Sitting up (this was an ordeal), Sage watched James take a step back. “When?”

            “About an hour ago, maybe. Dunno. I just heard-- hold on, just sit there, let’s talk, you don’t have to get up yet--” Upon watching his wife begin the struggle of standing, James put his hand on her shoulder and joined her on the couch, leg bouncing, hair messier than usual (surely, he’d been messing with it).

            “Oh, boo,” said Sage, acting as if this bothered her with a pout. She was really quite grateful to James, as she’d rather avoid doing things as much as possible. Gigantic bellies tended to get in the way of everyday activities, including putting on shoes and standing. “What’re you thinking?”

            As Sage yawned, James clicked his tongue, wringing his hands once before placing one on each thigh as if he were attempting to calm himself. “Well, Dorcas’ there to help her, but I guess we can stop by and offer support? Maybe stay a while, if you’re up to it, but we don’t have to. You need sleep.”

            “Yeah, but we should go. I can sleep all day tomorrow-- er, today, I guess. Later.” Sage laid her head back so it rest against the couch and looked at James, giving him a smile. The room was calm, but the eerie calm right before a storm hit. They both knew it was coming, and they weren’t ready. It was the most exciting thing they’d ever had to wait for.

            “And I’m still in clothes,” said Sage, gesturing to the outfit she had worn that day. James nodded, rubbing his hands on his jean-covered thighs once before he stood. He reached over to help Sage stand, which she very much appreciated, and kissed her forehead once before he rushed off to grab his shoes.

            Words couldn’t describe how glad Sage was she was a witch. With a wave of her wand, she had put on her own shoes, using a spell she’d discovered only a month ago thanks to Alice, who shared her pain.

            James returned, rushing into the room while he was still worming his second shoe onto his foot, hopping on the other.

            “Ready to-- ugh,” he struggled, finally getting his heel into the shoe. Standing up straight, he stood tall with his old trainers supporting him. “Ready to go?”

            “Yeah,” said Sage, and in no time at all, she was no longer in her living room but outside of the McKinnon-Evans house. Unlike that of the neighboring houses, who seemed mostly dark save the occasional light coming out a window with curtains drawn, almost every single light was turned on, yellow streaming out of every window, cutting through the darkness onto the green of their yard.

            Strangely, as they approached on the walk, the front door opened before Sage and James had reached it. Streaming light outside, none other than Frank Longbottom was leaving the house.

            He took a step outside, closing the door behind him. It didn’t take him long to notice the two people headed towards him. A grin manifested onto his face, warm and welcoming.

            “Oh, hello, you two,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

            “Hey, Frank,” said James. Sage smiled at him, hand on her stomach. How could she want to sit down _so soon_? It’d been only a minute since she’d gotten up!

            Before they had the chance to ask, Frank had answered their questions. “Alice and I got here a half hour ago. She’s inside, waiting. Lily’s been going at it for a bit, now. I just wanted some air, you know.”

            Nodding, James grinned and began to exchange a conversation with Frank Sage didn’t find herself caring too much about. Stepping forward, she told James she could walk on her own when he insisted to help her and shooed him off. Forcing him to keep talking to Frank, she walked into the house alone.

            It was strangely quiet inside, she noticed. The sounds of heavily muffled conversation came from behind the door she’d just closed, the only sounds she heard inside the hum of electricity.

            A yawn tipped her off - she heard the sleepy noise from the room just ahead, where she knew there’d be at least one person. She half-walked, half-wobbled into the room, poking her head in first and looking around just to be sure she wasn’t intruding on something.

            Well, she wasn’t intruding. If she was, she was doing so to Alice’s boredom. The Longbottom sat on a chair at a kitchen table, looking out the window beside her, the only window without its curtains drawn.

            Alice was just as big as Sage, if not larger, looking like she’d swallowed a beach ball. Just as Sage was, her and her husband were focused on the last of the preparations before their baby, who they already knew was a boy, that they’d named ‘Neville.’

            Sage felt a rush of the emotions she’d so been trying to ignore. Although she knew pushing the feelings down wouldn’t help her, she still did so. _Don’t think about it right now_ , she scolded herself.

            The thing she dreaded thinking about was hot on almost everyone’s minds. The prophecy, foretold to Dumbledore, that said one of their children would be the one with the ability to take down Voldemort for good. Based on the prophecy’s contents, the qualifications called for a boy, born in the last days of July, whose parents had defied Voldemort three times. This bonded the three pregnant couples together in a strange way, for although they were in the same situation together, they couldn’t hide the truth: they were competing. Every time they fantasized about their child being the safe one, they were, although unwillingly, making another parent’s baby the target of the darkest wizard they’d ever known in their ideal world. None of the parents would admit it, to anyone else or to themselves, but they wanted it to be someone else’s kid. Marlene, in that moment, wished it was Neville. Sage hoped it was the McKinnon-Evans child. Alice hoped it was Sage’s.

            Upon hearing Sage’s footsteps, Alice whipped her head around, face stern for a second before relaxing and lighting up in recognition. She shifted her body as much as she could, facing Sage instead of the window.

            “Hello,” she said, smiling at the other woman. Sage grinned, making her way over to the table. Pulling out a chair, she joined Alice.

            “Hello. Lily doing alright?” asked Sage, wishing she could scoot in closer to the table (it simply wasn’t possible with her stomach in the way). Alice nodded and glanced over to the wall where Sage had entered the room. Beside the doorway to the front door, there was a staircase going up Sage hadn’t even noticed. Lily must’ve been up there, she thought.

            “As well as can be expected, I suppose. James with you?” Alice looked back at Sage, bits of hair falling away from her ear. She tucked them back, obviously annoyed with it.

            “‘E’s talking to Frank outside.” Looking over at the staircase and the doorway, Sage wondered when James would come in just as she wondered how Lily was. What part of labour was she in? Was she about to deliver, or was she just dealing with contractions? It wasn’t as if she could just go upstairs (she doubted she could walk up them) and pop her head in to say hello. (She could see it, in her ‘mind’s eye’ - she opens the door to a sweaty and angry Lily who holds onto Marlene’s hand for dear life. “How’s it going?” she asks. Lily looks murderous. “Things well? Get you anything? Snacks? Where’s the bathroom?” - it wouldn’t end well. Dorcas would probably hex her into oblivion, if Lily didn’t get to it first.)

            “How are you, Sage?” With a very sincere look, Alice tilted her head at Sage. It was a simple question, but it had many meanings that Alice didn’t seem bothered with trying to hide.

            “Incredibly pregnant,” said Sage, smiling. A grin peeked onto Alice’s face, accompanied by a chuckle followed by raised eyebrows. “And you?”

            “Well,” Alice smiled, holding back more chuckles, “we’re in the same boat.”

            “Yeah.” Sage grinned, jerking her head over to the staircase, “Lily’s getting off, though. As sad as I am that she’s leaving us, I can’t say I blame her.”

            Alice laughed, a real, whole laugh, her head falling back ever so slightly to emit a lovely noise that travelled around the room in a comforting wave. Her voice had an air of humor when she said, “Yeah, neither do I.”

            “You’re due, when, tomorrow? The next day?” It had been around the end of July, Sage knew that much.

            “The thirty-first,” said Alice. “You’re on the fifth, right? The fifth of August?”

            “Around then, yeah. But then again, it could be whenever.” The voice inside of Sage tried not to count down the days until August. Just two more days, she told herself, and you can have the baby, you’ll be in the clear-- just wait two days, until July’s over, and they won’t be the baby from the prophecy...

            “Yeah.” Alice eyed her as if she was thinking about the same thing as Sage. If her baby came when it was due, the prophecy went down to the McKinnon-Evanses and the Longbottoms. It was an out, early on in the game, and Sage hoped to any god that was listening that she could take it. Alice knew her own hopes of being late were realistically fantastical. They were possible, but she didn’t want to get too caught up in the dreams.

            The awkward tension Sage hadn’t realized had developed was cut through when the door opened and two masculine voices making their way into the room. James and Frank were having a laugh, heads thrown back (James’ considerably more than Frank’s - it seemed if, as was the case often, James was the one having a good time, spreading it around with his contagious laughter).

            Catching their breath, the two of them approached the table, greeting the women there with grins over both their faces. Proper greetings were exchanged as the men sat down to join their wives.

            Conversation was made, but only lasted for so long, as they were all quite tired. When the noise faded, Sage found herself wishing she was back home, laying in bed, a cool breeze falling over her. Imagining what it would be like to sleep, Sage didn’t notice when she closed her eyes.

            When they opened again, it felt like she had done so much as blink. No time had passed, like nothing had happened. But one glance at the clock told her she was wrong. She’d taken a nap and hadn’t even noticed (and she hadn’t gotten anything out of it - she was still just as tired as she had been! She’d been cheated, really - it was more like she’d just time-travelled). Only seconds ago, it had been an hour and twenty-five minutes into the new day, but suddenly, the clock on the wall just behind Alice read ‘2:15’ and Sage was totally flustered.

            As it turned out, it wasn’t even blinking that had caused her to open her eyes - it was the sound of someone rushing down the stairs in a stampede of two feet.

            Marlene had a grin stretching from one ear to her other and bags the size of suitcases under her eyes. She took in the people at the table, didn’t acknowledge there were two more people there than she had seen hours ago, and spoke in a manner that seemed to address the room more than it did the people who listened.

            “We’ve got a baby,” she said, breathless. The exhaustion was evident in her voice, but she pushed through. Sage got the impression that she said things to make them feel more real, like she had to say what had happened for it to be true (or just for her to realize that it was). “Lily’s asleep - so’s the baby--”

            Marlene’s heavy breathing cut her off, giving Alice a chance to ask, “how is it? Healthy? Do you two have a name?”

            “Oh,” said Marlene, taking in another breath, “she’s lovely, Dorcas says she’s absolutely amazing-- her name’s Violet, and she’s beautiful--”

            Another shaky breath raked through Marlene. This breath seemed to be the reminder her body needed to sleep. As if she had breathed in pure exhaustion, she swayed on her feet suddenly, James and Frank getting ready to shoot to their feet and stand by her side to support her. Marlene’s eyes closed, opening again just a crack, so she could see her way as she took the few steps she needed to reach the couch. Collapsing onto it, soft snores came from her just before the ‘poof’ sound of her hitting the cushions.

            “Well,” said Frank. He spoke again, saying something Sage tried to hear but simply couldn’t. All she could hear was Marlene...

            “ _Her name’s Violet_...”

            It was a girl. Lily and Marlene had given birth to a baby girl. The prophecy said ‘him’... they were out of the running, their child no longer possibly the chosen one. (Unless, in the future, it turned out that Violet was really a boy. But Voldemort most likely wouldn’t care about that. To him, the choice of three had gone to two.)

            The likelihood of the prophesied child being Sage and James’ went up with this news. It was either their child or Neville. There was no way to know.

            Unless... Sage, who had been hoping her baby didn’t come early, now found herself praying it would be a girl. If it worked for Lily and Marlene, why couldn’t it work for them?

            Frank and Alice shared a look across the table and their hands fell intertwined together.  If they had a boy, Harry, it’d be him and Neville. But if Harry wasn’t Harry... If Harry wasn’t Harry, it’d be Neville. One of the two was fated for something none of them wanted to face.

            None of them had to say anything to know they were all thinking the same things. Marlene and Lily were off the hook. Sage couldn’t help but feel jealous.

            A hand fell onto her shoulder. James gave his wife a comforting smile and told her in an incredibly soothing voice, “hey. Everything’s going to be alright, yeah?”

            The way he said it, like he was _sure_ it would happen, like everything _had_ to be okay, brought Sage a whole wave of comfort she didn’t think possible. Everything would be okay, she knew. James would be there with her, and she’d be with him, and they’d figure it all out. Everything would be okay.

            She didn’t have to worry about a thing, because every little thing was gonna be alright.

 

            Sage and James went home not long after Marlene passed out, saying goodbye to Alice and Frank. Travelling home in a blur, the two of them weren’t quite as exhausted as Marlene had been, but the second they stepped past the threshold into their house, they both had nothing on their minds but the want to sleep. In a daze, James helped Sage up the stairs and into their room where they barely had the energy to take off their shoes before falling onto their mattress.

            It was James who got up first. Letting Sage sleep, he adjusted her pillows ever-so-slightly before making his way downstairs. Ignoring the clock, he made himself breakfast despite it being almost noon. He had a peaceful meal, staring out the window what was cracked just enough to allow a hint to warm air to float in, hitting him soothingly.

            A ladybug hit the windowsill as James took another bite of toast. Bread softened in his mouth whilst he watched the tiny bug scuttle across the wood, almost as if it was threatening to enter the room and join him. Red and black spots shimmering in the sunlight, the ladybug didn’t seem to notice him or care that it could enter. It just walked around, back and forth, not going anywhere.

            It took Sage another hour to wake up. The day kept on going by slowly, like someone somewhere was holding back the hands of time just enough to drag out the afternoon as much as possible. James tried not to stare at the clock, but he just kept glancing over to watch the minutes tick by as if he was waiting for something.

            He had an idea, suddenly, while gazing out the window lazily. As Sage napped on the couch beside him, his mind seemed to whisper to him. Motivated purely by the sudden thought, James shot up and headed over to the closet next to the back door.

            _Hey_ , his brain had said, casually, as if it was leaning on a bar and nodding at him. _Remember how your broom’s in the back of that closet--_

            He cut off his own thoughts to go grab it. It’d been what felt like a lifetime since he’d ridden it, and now that he’d thought of it, _nothing_ sounded better than flying around the backyard (charmed to be invisible to Muggles, of course) with the wind in his hair and ground far beneath him. Soaring in the air was amazing and still one of his favourite things to do, even if he didn’t get to often.

            The sheer volume of how much he missed playing Quidditch was overwhelming at times. Both he and Sage suffered from withdrawals, as they had gotten so used to playing the game with their teams. Sage still cried, sometimes, when she thought of it-- Quidditch was such a huge part of her life, as was obvious with her being captain of the Hufflepuff team.

            James straddled his broom, feeling the wooden handle mold into his hands although its regular polishing had been neglected. Letting out a breath, he wiggled and tightened his fingers, kicking off the grass in a smooth motion and flying into the air.

            It was something so simple, but he felt a rush of joy the second he began to soar, filled to the brim with pure elation. Flying brought about feelings quite unlike any others. Along with the happiness from pursuing a passion, there lay anxiety. Anxiety reminiscent of a child too excited to be able to fall asleep, who kept imagining the next day with a wild imagination, worried about things that could go wrong but elated by possible fantasies. Adrenaline filled him as well and made him feel high in more ways than one.

            When he was in the air, he briefly wondered how he’d ever gotten down. It seemed like he’d been hanging there forever, as if he hadn’t just been on the ground with two feet securely on the earth.

            It was only then when he realized how much his hair had grown-- it went past his chin, flying all around him, into his face. Nowhere near the length of Sirius’ hair (he’d grown out his hair so it went several inches below his collarbones), it was still the longest James had had it in a long time. If it had been two years ago, he would’ve cut the black mess so it wouldn’t obscure his ability to play Quidditch. But, as he reminded himself, he didn’t have to do that anymore.

            A hint of sadness appeared, quickly snuffed out and replaced by him telling himself that it was good he didn’t play anymore, as his hair looked nice as hell when it was longer. Smug, James grinned at the ground below as he hung in the air, sitting in place, as if he had bested the ground, beating it.

            James didn’t notice how long he’d been in the air, zooming around randomly, until the back door opened. Sage walked outside, staring into the air at him as he flew down to meet her. Smiling brightly, she watched him touch down onto the ground, taking his broom into his hand. Her eyes travelled up to his hair, no doubt thinking it looked a mess.

            “Here’s the James I knew,” she said, obviously teasing him. “Big grin, always a sign of trouble - wild hair, wind-swept from flying - standing tall and proud...”

            Saying nothing, James just kept smiling as she placed a hand on her back.

            “I just got word,” said Sage, “Alice’s given birth, Neville was born only an hour ago.”

            “No, really?” asked James, strangely surprised. He felt his tall posture stoop a bit as he held his broomstick less like a trophy and more like a tool, one hand on Sage’s back to lead her back inside.

            “Yeah.” Closing the door behind them, James took care to turn the lock before he moved to put his broom back into the closet. “Oh, I’m jealous,” said Sage, getting a glimpse at her own broom that sat just next to James’. “I want to fly...”

            “Soon enough,” said James, closing the closet door. “Soon enough you’ll be able, you won’t be pregnant, and you could be a part-time mum while you’re a part-time Quidditch player.”

            “That sounds absolutely lovely,” said Sage. She tried to ignore the realistic part of her in hopes of simply enjoying the idea of this pipe dream.

            “Harry’ll be raised on the field-- he’ll love the game just as much as we do, of course.”

            Sage couldn’t even be bothered to roll her eyes, let alone tell him once more ‘it could be a girl.’ That just made her think of Violet, how she was safe, and how Sage longed for that safety.

            “That’s right, lovely.” Stepping into the hallway, Sage started towards the living room. “Do you think we should go see Neville? I’m sure their house is packed, you know how all their family is...”

            James thought for a second, biting his lip. “D’you think his mum’ll be there? Frank’s? She’s... well, she’s _nice_ , I guess, but...”

            “Yeah,” said Sage. She nodded, smiling. “I know what you mean.”

            The pair of them had formed a wobbly opinion of the woman when they’d met her not all too long ago. She was a strange woman, in both actions and in presentation. It wasn’t as if she was mean or rude, but she had a way of speaking and addressing people that had made both Sage and James feel as if she was scolding them. The air she carried herself with had anyone who met her stand straighter, not out of pride or boastfulness, but out of fear of reprimand for slouching.

            And that wasn’t even to mention her dress. She seemed to have a fondness for strange furs and fancy hats. It wasn’t all-too ridiculous, but along with the strict nature she had, James and Sage were okay with not seeing her.

            A debate between them lasted almost five minutes. They brought up all kinds of good points, including that Frank’s mother would, most likely, be busy with all the chaos of a brand-new baby. Ultimately, they decided they might as well visit and headed over.

            Alice was sleeping, hidden off in her room. Although he seemed like he very much wanted to join his wife, Frank was out and about, handling all the visitors, greeting people. The tiny baby Neville was asleep as well, but he was in the living room surrounded by family and friends.

            Neville was a skinny baby with small tufts of blonde hair so light it was almost white. He had his father’s eyes and his mother’s nose, his skin white with reddish marks that would fade as time went on. Instantly popular, Neville was well liked even though people had only met him when he was asleep (though, perhaps, that was the best time to meet him... he’d most likely be crying when he was awake).

            It was nice to stare down at the infant and imagine what his life would be like, ignoring the prophecy. He’d, most likely, be a wizard, like his parents, going to school at Hogwarts. What house would he be in? What classes would he enjoy? What kind of a person would he be?

            He was a blank slate, and it was hard in that moment to think of him as possibly defeating the Dark Lord. Hopefully, the blank slate he was then wouldn’t be destroyed. Maybe he’d become a good person (with parents like Frank and Alice, it was almost certain that he’d be spectacular), maybe he’d save the world. The world was his, and he could be almost anything.

            Before they left, Sage pulled Frank aside to tell him a message for Alice. “Tell her I’m mad she’s abandoned me, but glad she’s finally free.”

            Sage then told him he needed to sleep, family and friends be damned, pat him on the shoulder, and took James’ arm to leave.

  
            The ravioli James had made wasn’t the _best_ thing Sage had ever tasted, but it was fucking _up there_. She didn’t know how he’d gotten it to do that thing where it melted in her mouth at the perfect speed, but he had, and she was _so grateful_.

            Taking another bite, Sage felt her eyes roll back in her head, moaning dramatically before looking at James like he was a god. He was too good.

            The familiar feeling of her child moving around didn’t bother her one bit - in fact, she thought it funny, as if they were agreeing with her about how good the food was. She hadn’t been feeling them move around as much lately - there wasn’t really enough room for them to. Most of the time, when she felt it move, it was only just shoving her from the inside. Rude.

            She was _so close_ from taking another bite - fork literally brushing pasta against her lips - when she put her fork down, eyes widening and hands moving to her stomach. James, who was also in love with his ravioli, didn’t notice her until she spoke. He had been looking at the ceiling, letting the food hang out in his mouth for as long as possible before it got gross (which had been a few seconds prior).

            “ _James_ ,” she said. His head snapped down to look at her, eyes frantic solely over the tone of her voice.

            She didn’t have to say anything after that - James knew the second he looked at her. Springing up, James almost tripped over his own legs, then over the chair he’d just been sitting on, then over the table, then the floor. It took him a second to remember how to be coordinated, but the second he did, he forgot what the hell he was supposed to be doing. It didn’t matter how many times they went over the plan, he wasn’t ready.

            After making a noise of pure confusion, James’ brain lit up and he ran over to the drawer in the kitchen to grab what he needed to contact several different people. Dorcas, first-- then Sirius and all their friends and August.

            Confirming with Sage that she was really going into labour, James sent out the messages and turned to help her. Walking out of the kitchen, James waved his wand once at the room and all the food was wrapped and put away (Sage would’ve killed him if he let that ravioli go bad).

            It took Dorcas seconds to get there. She put her brown hair up into a braid to ensure she wouldn’t be blinded by it with a smooth wave of her wand. Slipping into her Healer persona, Dorcas took control of the situation almost instantly, telling Sage and James what to do in a strangely comforting manner.

            Sage was panicked, but the 900 worries that had taken over her mind the past few months were all gone as she totally focused on what she was doing, what she had to do. James was eerily calm, handling it all with a grace she knew he had but hadn’t expected. He really was amazing, doing everything he could to make her feel the best she possibly could.

            It was the thirty-first of July and Sage wanted so desperately to hold out the three hours until August, but found herself unable to do so. Time went by, until August was only an hour away (but _August_ August - Sage’s brother - had gotten there a half-hour ago) and Sage really thought she might be able to do it.

            But despite how she shook when she thought of how he might be the prophesied child and how she tried her damndest to hold off that extra time, Harry James Potter was born at eleven twenty-three on 31 July and met all the criteria, just as Neville had.

 

            It was hard to think, when you looked at Harry, that he was supposed to, possibly, save the world. He was so small... a tiny thing, warm and soft and so, so huggable. It was hard to imagine him do anything but be adorable.

            He was born with hair, already jet black like his father’s. And although it had been slicked back, it was obvious that it had the same properties as James’ - it was going to be messy. Even slicked back, strands poked up at the back of his head.

            His eye colour was most likely going to change as he aged. What they’d turn was unclear, but he obviously got the light, light green with blue undertone colour from his mother, along with getting the shape of his eyes. Hopefully, if got all his eye genes from his mother, he wouldn’t get James’ bad eyesight.

            Sage and James had a nice time looking at him, pointing out all his features (“looks like your nose a bit, James,” “oh, Sage, his skin’s more of your colour... but that could just be because he’s such a fresh baby.”) and just staring. They were both totally and completely enamoured with him and found him the most amazing and interesting thing they’d ever encountered.

            Harry lay on Sage’s chest, his soft baby skin against hers, right on top of the scar she’d gotten multiple years ago. Craning her head so she could keep looking at him, Sage watched him grab onto James’ finger. She never knew hands could be so adorable.

            “ _Hi_ ,” said James, voice softer and more gentle than Sage had ever heard it. He moved his finger slightly, staring at Harry with tears in his eyes.

            Before that moment, if he’d been asked, “what’s your happiest memory?” or if he had to think of something to conjure a Patronus, he’d have thought of his wedding day, or the day Sage proposed, or that day where they lay by the Black Lake and talked about random stuff, or when he first kissed her... he’d have thought of all his memories of Sage. But sitting there, on a chair pulled up as close as it could possibly get to the bed Sage lay on, he looked at the tiny hand around his finger that connected to the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, at the woman who had created that thing (he now knew why so many goddesses were mothers. Sage was nothing less than ethereal and divine) and knew this swept all those other things away.

            Sage was feeling many different things (sore and exhausted being two of them) then, but most of all, she felt an unmanageable feeling of love. She felt this swelling rush of adoration so much as she looked at Harry, who was closing his eyes slowly as to fall asleep. This was an emotion she was unable to put into words, as she didn’t think they existed. No emotion she’d ever heard would even come close to describing how she felt.

            _I would do anything for you,_ thought Sage. Harry’s eyes closed, his cheek rest against her chest that rose and fell with each breath she took. _Cross oceans - swim or walk the bottom of the sea floor. I would die for you. I would snap my wand and broom into thousands of tiny pieces and never replace them for you. I would find a way to sprout wings and fly into the sun for you. I would take care of you until every single bit of my energy has been used five times over. I would kill for you. I would take every single one of the Unforgivable Curses for you._  

            Her head went on for quite some time until it found that even these things couldn’t express how much she loved him. Tears pricked in her eyes and fell down her cheeks, and she looked over at James who had been crying for quite some time.

            “I love him so much,” said Sage, as quiet as she could manage. The words came out quickly, a sob finishing them off. He looked at her with a smile, tears falling from his own eyes silently.

            Sage’s hand reached up to caress James’ face. Cradling his jaw, she brushed her finger over his cheek, clearing it of tears. More fell to replace them.

            “My boys,” she said, looking between the two of them. James’ free hand grabbed her wrist softly, holding onto her as he let out a quiet sob. Teary, he smiled at her, lip trembling.

            “I love you,” said James, taking her hand off of his face so he could kiss her knuckles and hold her hand. “And I love our son.”

            “He’s so tiny,” said Sage. Looking at Harry, she tried to not sob again as she addressed him. She knew it wouldn’t mean anything to him, as he was asleep and didn’t understand words yet, but she wanted to tell him, anyway.

            “I’m sorry you haven’t got any grandparents,” she said through tears as James pressed her knuckles onto his mouth as to stop himself from sobbing again, “but you’ve got so much other family, all these people who love you, and we’ll make up for that, yeah?”

            Sage glanced at James, cueing his aggressive nodding. She grinned and glanced over at the door, biting her lip. “We should probably tell the lot in the living room they can come in here, shouldn’t we?”

            James didn’t want to get up. He _really_ didn’t want to get up. But he had to, he supposed, so he took his finger away from Harry’s reluctantly (“he’ll still be here when you come back, lovely,” Sage had said, trying to hide her giggles.) and stood, stepping out of the room and heading into the living room.

            They all heard him coming, apparently, as all eyes were on the doorway even before he walked into it. Dorcas had gone not too long ago (she was quite exhausted from helping deliver three babies in two days), but she had told the Marauders, Wendy, and August what had happened. They were all aware of Harry’s healthy arrival.

            “So?” asked Sirius, sitting cross-legged on the floor. James realized he must’ve been standing there for a few seconds without saying anything and hurried to do so.

            “I have a son,” said James simply, after debating with himself over what to say. Sirius stood up, along with the rest of them, making their way over to him to hug and congratulate the awestruck boy.

            “Nice job, mate,” said Sirius, clapping him on the back. “Can we go see ‘im?”

            “Yeah,” said James. He led the group of them into the room with his wife and child as they all whispered excitedly amongst themselves.

            James stood back, as much as he didn’t want to, and let the group all swarm around Sage to get a good look at the baby. Harry had woken up from his three-minute-long nap and was looking around the room blankly, mostly unable to see things.

            Positioning Harry in a way that people could see him, Sage held him in her arms and sat up more, keeping the blanket around her tightly (she had gotten cold as soon as Harry was born).

            Wendy was crying and didn’t care about it, too overwhelmed by all the emotions she had to bother. August was forcing himself not to cry again, settling for biting his lip and brushing his finger against the bottom of Harry’s feet, hoping his hands were as warm as they felt.

            Peter smiled as he chewed on the fingernail on his thumb, eyes wide and watching everything happening with a focused awe. Remus had a grin stretching from ear to ear, cooing at the tiny child soothingly and softly, playing with Harry’s hand gently, grin somehow widening when the baby grabbed onto his finger.

            Sirius was silent, looking down at the infant and swallowing, tears in his eyes he hadn’t let fall. He took a step away from the doorway that he’d hung in to get closer to the bed, looking at Harry.

            Harry looked right back. Or, at least, Sirius would later _claim_ that Harry looked at him. In reality, Harry was a newborn baby and didn’t have fully-functioning eyes. He could barely see _Sage_ as he lay in her arms staring up at her, let alone make out Sirius, who was still pretty far away from him.

            But either way, Sirius was beckoned closer, until he was by Sage’s side like the others, staring at the baby with a fondness he didn’t know he had the ability to feel filling him up. Ignoring the sudden urge to turn into a dog and curl up on or next to Sage’s legs (and the urge to cry), Sirius chuckled airily, forcing a smile (so he wouldn’t cry) to appear on his lips that had previously been open a fraction of a centimeter in shock.

            “Wow, James,” said Sirius, over the cooing Remus was making right next to him. “He’s a charmer.”

            Frog in his throat hopping away, Sirius continued with a smirk. “Normally, I don’t get what people are talking about when they say babies are cute because I think they look like blobs, but you’ve... you’ve got a cute baby, mate.”

            “Thank you,” said James slowly in an almost questioning manner. He grinned smugly, “I mean, he’s my kid, so he _has_ to be gorgeous, right?”

            “James, shut up,” said Sage, rolling her eyes. James smiled, glancing up at her (he’d been staring at Harry) and realizing how utterly exhausted she looked. That, he imagined, was how tired Atlas looked when he held up the sky.

            “Do you want to sleep?” he asked, stepping closer to her. He put his hand on Wendy’s shoulder as a support (she appreciated this, but still kept letting tears fall occasionally) and addressed his wife. Sage looked down at Harry and nodded.

            “Do you want to take him? He should sleep.” The people around Sage’s bed cleared a path, letting James reach his wife and son. “You should, too. Sleep, I mean.”

            As James took Harry into his arms, he waved Sage off and felt less like he was holding a baby and more like someone had just put a warm blanket on top of him. A soft, fuzzy blanket. A comfort blanket that he got to hold in his arms and smell and feel love towards.

            Everyone gathered into the hallway as James kissed Sage’s forehead when she lay down properly, James joining them after turning off the lights. It was pitch black in the room, as it was barely 1am, and he closed the door behind him to let Sage rest.

            Holding Harry carefully, James walked them all into the living room, where they each got to hold Harry (who had fallen asleep the second James closed the door and hadn’t woken up since) and smile and coo at him.

            Harry was only a few hours old, unconscious, and totally unaware of the world around him, but he was loved more than he’d _ever_ know. Even with James and Sage and Sirius and Remus and Wendy and August and Peter telling him how much they all loved him, how much they all felt their hearts swell with every smile he flashed at them, how much they all wanted more than almost anything for him to be as happy as he possibly could, he’d still never fully realize just how much he was loved, from the very beginning of his wonderful adventure of a life to the bittersweet end.

 


	60. Sixty

            Being named godfather was one of the most important things that had ever happened in the whole of Sirius’ life. Suddenly, this child - this tiny, tiny baby - was connected to him in a _real_ way. Yeah, he was practically uncle, as he was James’ brother in every way except by blood, but _godfather_ was a real title, something tangible he could hold onto. And he didn’t want to ever let go.

            Harry was such a baby. It was strange that he found that strange, but he did. Sirius already wanted Harry to be ten, so he could be getting into trouble with him. Having conversations. Then, Harry’d be a real person, with a personality and opinions and a mind full of ideas and memories, and Sirius couldn’t fucking wait. He couldn’t even imagine how cool Harry’d be.

            Baby Harry was cool, though, he had to say. Loud and a little obnoxious, but cool. Sirius had never felt as responsible as he did when he held and took care of Harry.

            Although he loved James, he couldn’t help but imagine what Harry being in his custody would be like. Harry’d be the coolest goddamn kid ever. But that’d never happen, as James wouldn’t be dying anytime soon, Sirius was sure. James was totally committed to living if only for Harry. But then again, James had been wanting to grow old for most of his life. Lately, he’d wanted to grow old so much that he felt it, in his chest, sharp and blunt at the same time, like someone was reaching into his chest and squeezing anything it could grab.

            But that didn’t mean they weren’t threatened. It was constantly in Sirius’ mind, how in danger they were. Harry being born a boy on the thirty-first meant that Voldemort had to decide who to kill - Harry or Neville. All they could do was hope it wouldn’t be them (it was an impossible pipe-dream to hope the Dark Lord would give up on both boys). It was a terrible, horrible waiting game.

            Sirius couldn’t help but worry that they’d find out his decision of which boy was his ‘equal’ when it was too late and one of the boys was already gone.

            Dumbledore had plans, though, to keep the Potters safe. They were barely going out at all, and if they did, it was usually only to do things for the Order. Even Harry’s christening had been a small affair - only the parents, Harry, Wendy, and Sirius had attended. But that didn’t mean people didn’t know about it - no, the word got out pretty far. (Little did Sirius know, even McGonagall had heard the news. She’d been on the line between wondering how the Potters could ever think that was a good idea and being very touched. She’d never admit it, but she missed the boys at school. Hogwarts’ endless corridors seemed much more empty. The chair in front of her desk in her office was, without a doubt.)

            But being stuck at home didn’t mean they didn’t see anyone. It was nearly everyday that Sirius went over to see them all, to take Harry off their hands for a few hours so they could bathe and sleep.

            Even if he was just curled up, as a dog, next to him, being with Harry was amazing. Every time Sirius looked down at his tiny face and tiny hands and tiny feet and tiny everything, he felt the images burning into his mind. He welcomed this, as he wanted every memory with Harry he could get. Every single one of them was beautiful, soft and white and blurry at the edges and completely soaked in happiness and content.

            Time didn’t pass when he was just holding Harry and looking at him and happy.

            With as much love as Sirius had for Harry, he did have to admit, the boy could get… _less fun_ to have around. Particularly when he refused to go to sleep and found screaming much more enjoyable (Sirius didn’t get this at the beginning, but soon found himself understanding, and at a point, very much wished to join the infant in screeching).

            Sirius, totally desperate, would rock and shush Harry to no avail, very much regretting his offers to watch the baby while Sage and James left to get out of the house. He looked around him at all the baby stuff and tried to problem-solve, but Harry did not care about anything Sirius tried or offered. He just kept on crying.

            How was this possible? Only an hour ago, Harry’d been chill! In fact, he was so chill that Sirius was free to just fuck around if he wanted (perhaps, in a few years, this would mean getting Harry and himself into trouble. But while Harry was such a baby, all it could really be was Sirius turning into a dog and sniffing at Harry because Harry seemed to like it). But with Harry screeching, Sirius had to stay serious if he had any hope of calming the baby.

            He didn’t know how Harry wasn’t passed out. If not from exhaustion, from lack of breath. It’d been almost three minutes since Sirius had seen him inhale. The kid had a set of lungs, that’s for sure. Sirius’d rather he stop using those strong vocal cords, though.

            Sirius didn’t remember when he came in, or when he took Harry, or when he got it out, but he sure as hell remembered the second Remus started singing and playing his guitar.

            Remus had put tiny, screaming, baby Harry onto the baby blanket on the floor. As Harry flailed around and yelled, Remus sat down right next to him and shushed him softly once before he brought his long fingers down to the guitar sat in his lap.

            The music wasn’t audible for a significant amount of time because Harry was screaming over it. But Remus continued, his soft strums and gentle words becoming more and more audible as screams turned to sobs and hiccups, finally dying down until Harry was silent. The sweet music was made all that much sweeter as the first thing Sirius had heard in an hour that wasn’t infant screeching.

            Singing softly, Remus looked between his moving hands and Harry as he played. Harry breathed for the first time in an alarming amount of time and looked up at Remus, arms and legs still moving around, more of a constant stretching than the dramatic and drastic flailing it had been minutes before.

            It was a beautiful rendition of a song Sirius had only heard once before. He couldn’t remember the original version very well, but he knew instantly that he loved this version much more than it. There weren’t very many things he found more beautiful than Remus’ singing, but if he had to name something, it’d most likely be either Harry or Remus himself. This was a dream.

            Sirius was totally swept up in the music. It flew him above the clouds and into the great vast universe, letting him touch the stars. Fingertips grazed their blazing fires, but they did not burn him, instead just feeling a safe warm.

            Harry drifted off to sleep quickly and suddenly in a sea of song. Sirius only realized that Harry was asleep when Remus stopped playing and delivered him back to earth. His eyes flickered over at Remus, who smiled sweetly, and at Harry, who was the polar opposite of the screaming infant he’d been only minutes ago.

            Speaking softly, Sirius addressed Remus, causing the werewolf to turn and look at him.

            “You’re a lifesaver, Moony,” said Sirius on a sigh, smiling. Remus gave Sirius a sad upturn of his own lips as he moved on the floor, adjusting his legs and putting the guitar down next to him silently. Wrapping his arms around his legs, he pulled his knees into his chest and looked at Sirius with cloudy eyes.

            Sirius felt his smile flicker, fading off and snapping back as he stared into Remus’ eyes, attempting to read them. He had the sudden urge to get closer, as if that would let him know what the werewolf felt.

 

            Remus’ eyes seemed to analyze him as his smile deepened. A chuckle formed on his lips and left on a breath.

            “James leaves for one minute and this place goes to the dogs,” said Remus, gesturing to the mess of baby things on the floor. Sirius’ eyes widened and he had to bite his lip incredibly hard to hold back the laugh that threatened to escape him, ending up releasing a snort which passed through the fist he covered his mouth with.

            It only took a few seconds for Sirius to regain himself, smirking at Remus as he teased, “shut up, prick.”

            The smirk Remus gave him - head slightly tilted down but eyes looking up, dark and hooded, with lips curled at the edges, moreso on one side than the other - was one he used to have often. It was the smile of clever humor and well thought-out and complex jokes. Mischief danced in his eyes.

            A second later, it was gone, and Remus was simply smiling.

            There’s a certain type of longing Sirius felt that he didn’t know what to do about. He hadn’t known longing, really, before he didn’t have Remus under his fingertips. Before, he thought longing was wanting something a whole lot.

            He now knew he was wrong.

            The longing he felt was not want. It wasn’t even need. It was something else entirely, much more physical than emotional. It was something in his chest trying to fly out of him to get to where he should be. Like all his organs bundled together so tightly they formed a ball inside of him and pressed against his ribcage in a desperate attempt to _go_.

            It wasn’t want and it wasn’t need. It was laying down on the floor of the shower and not knowing how to fix it, how to fix anything. How did he get over this? The thought plagued him. It wasn’t even a long-term thing - he didn’t know what to do to get himself up off the floor, how to turn off the water and get out.

            Sirius almost kissed him. Like a domestic display of affection, a form of thanks for freeing him from Harry’s screaming. It was almost an instinct, like he’d been doing it for so long that it came naturally, but Sirius had to stop himself as he remembered that it wasn’t and that he couldn’t.

            “What do you think he’s going to be like? When he’s older, I mean.” Remus stared down at baby Harry, at his softened and peaceful face. The lines he’d had when he cried and fussed were gone, flattened and erased. His chest rose and fell slightly, mouth hung open.

            “Dunno.” Shrugging, Sirius inched closer to Harry and took one of his tiny hands between two fingers, holding it gently. He gave Harry’s hand a tiny shake, as if he was meeting him for the first time. “He’ll be the greatest, though. Bound to be, with parents like his. And, of course, all of us around him.”

            Remus chuckled, arms still around his legs, eyes flickering to Sirius and back to Harry after lingering on the dog. Pretending not to notice, Sirius ran his thumb back and forth over Harry’s tiny knuckles in a soothing motion he prayed wouldn’t make the baby wake up. He was sure that the second Harry was awoken by anything but time, he’d start his screaming all over again.

            “D--” cutting himself off, Remus picked at his jeans, watching his fingers with a furrowed brow. He let out a breath, as if he was trying to decide whether or not to speak his mind. Sirius feared his heart would beat out of his chest, anticipation filling him like he’d just drank a hot drink.

            When Sirius didn’t say anything, Remus took in another breath and spoke, looking up at Sirius halfway through his words.

            “Do you think it’s him?” Their eyes met. “The prophecy? Do you think he’s the kid who can defeat You-Know-Who?”

            Harry’s hand was placed back on his belly as Sirius ran the fingers that’d been holding it through his long hair, sticking to the roots. He grabbed onto the base of his hair and let out a heavy sigh, pulling against his scalp.

            “I sure as hell hope it’s not.” Sirius didn’t know what to say. What was there to? It was all up to Voldemort to decide. Either Harry or Neville.

            Maybe Sirius should feel bad about how much he didn’t want it to be Harry. He tried his hardest to not wish it’d be Neville. But there were two options, and choosing one means the other is damned.

            “Yeah,” said Remus. It was the kind of ‘yeah’ that ended conversations that were already dying, a signal that there was nothing more to talk about. The topic was over and done, despite them saying so little. They were both so deep in thought that they were having whole conversations with themselves.

            It was obvious that Remus was lost in his thoughts, more in his mind than with Sirius. But Sirius was all too aware of his surroundings, all too present. Suddenly, he was very aware of the walls around him. Walls behind his back were out of sight but not of mind, and Sirius felt incredibly boxed in.

            There was some kind of silent agreement between them, telling them both they couldn’t talk about certain things. This was inches away from being broken by Sirius. Even the rule of not talking about the war in times like this, when they were with Harry and everything seemed good, Sirius felt ready to challenge.

            Why were the only things he could think to talk about all things he knew would drive Remus away?

            For a second, it occurred to Sirius that perhaps it was because anything he could say, anything he could do, anything, would drive him away without fail. There was nothing he could do to stop Remus from drifting away, and any efforts to stop it just made him float off. He was hanging in space, and he’d just pushed Remus. And no matter how hard he tried to grab onto his shirt, pull him back, _anything_ , Remus just kept going, flying away slowly in the opposite direction. Sirius didn’t know how to follow him.

            “Are you getting a new tattoo? You know - for Harry? Since you’ve got one for both his parents and Peter and such?” A smile played on Remus’ lips as he asked.

            “Most likely,” said Sirius, suddenly feeling as though a whole barrage of words had rained into his head. How had he just been unable to think of something to say? “But I’ve got to decide on what to do, you know, because I was thinking of a fawn, but there’s a whole thing of what if Harry gets older and that totally doesn’t make sense? Like, I’d get a fawn that’d grow with him, and when it finally turned into another stag, what if we find out that he’s the polar opposite of James? And then I’ve just got another fucking stag on me for no goddamn reason - there’s a whole thing there, and I’m trying to decide if I should wait to get it done until he’s like thirteen, you know, but then I could also just try to find some other design to do, scrapping the whole fawn thing, but then what would I do? There isn’t very much notable about him for now, as he’s so little and not really a whole person yet.”

            Remus widened his eyes dramatically for a second to express fake shock, grinning when he said, “woah, mate - you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

            “I mean, it’s one of the only things to think about nowadays that isn’t sad,” said Sirius, though he immediately regretted it as Remus’ grin faded. In an attempt to save it all, he followed up in a joking manner, “But yes, I have thought about this too much, I think. Pretty dumb, when you think about it, as I don’t think Harry will care very much.”

            Harry was still asleep, lulled by their soft voices. He didn’t have the ability to care about tattoos, then. He didn’t really care about things that weren’t basic needs.

            “I like the idea of getting it later,” said Remus, one hand leaving his legs for a few seconds to brush his hair out of his eyes. “Then, it can be a whole thing. For his thirteenth birthday, you can get it, show it to him, and then he’ll have the memory of you doing it. That’ll mean more than you always having it, you know, because he’ll remember when it happened. And he’ll know it was for him. Maybe you can even get him in on the design, too.”

            “Knowing thirteen-year-olds, his idea of the best design would be poorly-drawn dicks,” said Sirius, making Remus give him a look of desperation, the look of him trying not to burst into laughter. Grinning, Sirius tried to hide how happy he was that things were getting less tense. “But that’s a really good idea, Moony. Really really good.”

            “Yeah?” Remus’ face lit up, both happy and teasing. “I don’t want to brag, but... on the thirty-first of July, 19… 1993, you give me credit, yeah?”

            “Sure,” said Sirius, loose and smiley. “31 July, ‘93.”

            There was a hint of silence, then Sirius continued, “can you believe it’s 1980? The seventies are over, but the eighties haven’t gotten a start yet, so we’re just in this weird limbo between decades, where it’s the seventies culturally but our calendars tell us it’s the eighties.”

            “1980,” Remus repeated, as if he still hadn’t realized. “What do you think the eighties will be like?”

            Sirius shrugged. “Dunno. What were the seventies like? What are we going to remember about the past ten years in the future?”

            “Well, there’s always politics, you know--” realizing his mistake, Remus put up a finger in reaction to Sirius’ opened mouth.

            “No, no, we aren’t going there now,” he said, trying to hide his smile. Sirius huffed and crossed his arms. (Who was the person in that room closest to being a toddler? Harry or Sirius? These are the real questions.)

            “But, also, there’ll be music, which we also aren’t going into because we’ll sit here for thirteen hours--”

            “You are absolutely no fun, Remus, and I’m, frankly, appalled and shocked.” Sirius held his hand on his chest, over his heart, and spoke in mock offence. He had a thought, changing the subject back. “You know, if Harry comes up to me at, say, five, and asks why I have tattoos for all of you but not for him, I _will_ get one early.”

            Sirius looked down at Harry, sighing. “I’m already going soft for him.”

            “Oh, because you weren’t soft before now. _Sure._ ” With a cheeky smirk, Remus rolled his eyes. Sirius gasped.

            “How dare you. I ride a motorcycle,” he said, as if this fact settled the matter. He knew it didn’t, but he didn’t quite care. Remus threw his head back and held in a laugh, letting out silent giggles.

            “Oh, yes,” said Remus, words dripping with sarcasm. “How could I forget? They won’t let just anyone buy motorcycles. You’ve got to give proof of how you’re hard enough for it, don’t you? Take a test or something?”

            Rolling his eyes, Sirius let his arms fall. He squinted at Remus and smirked, “was that a double entendre I smell?”

            It took Remus a second, staring at Sirius with a furrowed brow and a barely shaking head to recognition, totally exhausted while holding in laughter. He brought his hand up, fingers massaging his temple, “oh my _God_ , Sirius--”

            Sirius’ grin lit up his whole face as he watched Remus try desperately not to laugh. Seconds passed and Remus was calm again, looking at Sirius with annoyance in his eyes. As much as he glared, he still couldn’t hide the hint of a smile on his lips.

            “You know what? Nevermind, we can talk about music,” said Remus, hoping to get the conversation somewhere else. It was clear he hoped Sirius wasn’t in the mood to talk for hours about music. Sirius almost felt bad for proving him wrong.

            “I’m glad you brought it up,” said Sirius. With an intake of breath, he began. “So we all know how the music created in this last decade will heavily shape the sound of the music in the future…”

            Sirius went on until James and Sage got home, bringing up multiple points and arguments (including “the people who created the rebellious music and revolution of this decade are soon enough going to form the establishment themselves, where we can only hope they’ll see the future teenager rebellions and not turn into the establishment they themselves hated. There’s the possibility they’ll still see themselves as still the ‘revolution’ and as ‘rebels’ but by then they won’t be, as they’ll be the Man, and they'll see any hint of actual rebellion by the newer generation and attempt to crush it while claiming that their ideas are still liberal, when the rest of the world has moved on so they’re suddenly conservative.”), citing sources and giving recommended listening. If only he’d worked this hard at school, maybe he would’ve gotten something better than a ‘D’ in History of Magic.

            If only.

 

            Baby things had taken over the whole of James’ life - his time, his space, his sleep, his mind, his... _him_ \- and thrown it all into chaos, and he’d never been happier. He fucking loved it all.

            The toys all over the living room floor Cruikshanks just didn’t seem to realize weren’t his, taking care of Harry, holding him, hearing those noises he made that were mostly just grunts, looking into his eyes (Harry really loved eye contact), and everything else... he loved every single bit of it.

            Harry was a month old when he began to smile at people. The first time he did this with James, it was like a whole new world had opened up. The sun started shining, angels singing, fireworks went off... his son smiled at him! _Him_! James could only imagine this was how it felt to have a celebrity idol look at and acknowledge him.

            It happened like this: James had Harry on his lap, his tiny feet in both of James’ hands (bare, as he’d kicked off his socks. Somewhere on the floor were two tiny, tiny socks with little snitches on them) as he played with his legs. Hunched over, James had his face directly over Harry, making funny noises and faces at him. Closing his eyes tight and sticking out his mouth, James said something not unlike “bhgloo.”

            When his eyes opened again, Harry took one look into James’ hazel eyes (as stated previously, Harry _really_ loved eye contact) and his lips very suddenly went from a model-esque pout to a baby’s smile, toothless and chubby and soft and all kinds of warm.

            James had never smiled so wide. It was a rare smile, so powerful that with it came the beginnings of tears. He remembered one other time he had the same kind of smile - when he’d married. He also smiled like that the first time he ever saw Harry, and a few times just because he was happy - simple times, where he lay in bed with Sage in an early morning haze and didn’t have to get up, when he danced with her in the kitchen, when he lived his dreams.

            Harry didn’t care, though - he was just being a happy baby, smiling at people. But it meant the world to James, ten times over.

            He could’ve stared at Harry for hours, just looking at that happy baby face (that most certainly wouldn’t stay happy - he was a baby, after all, and had very fluctuating emotions). Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sage walk into the living room, hearing her footsteps and not feeling at all sorry that he didn’t look up to smile at her.

            “Hi!” said James, eager. He hid a sniffle and continued to speak to Harry in various gibberish words. Harry went back to his model pout, watching James intensely.

            Sage fell onto the couch beside him with an “oof,” sitting close enough that their legs ran against each other, so she could reach onto James’ lap and boop Harry’s nose, smiling down at the infant warmly.

            “Bahaga,” said James. “Blaah!”

            He turned his head to glare at Sage when she snorted. Covering her mouth to stifle any other sounds of laughter, she waved him off with her free hand.

            “Sorry,” said Sage, taking her hand away from her mouth and sounding not at all sorry. “I just... you talk to him with utter gibberish, and it’s adorable, but then I think of how Remus talks to him, and...”

            Sage shook her head as she giggled. “It’s very different.”

            Remus, unlike James, liked to speak to Harry using English. Not only English, though - he used proper grammar, long words, an advanced vocabulary, and abstract ideas, as if he were talking to another adult.

            “I occasionally find myself bewildered,” he’d say, holding Harry in his lap, “of how you were - only a month ago - inside of your mother. And even stranger - _ten_ months ago, you didn’t exist! At all! But then your parents... _did stuff_ , and they brought you into being! A whole new living thing, created by your mum and your dad, growing - thriving - inside of your mum, only to be born, which led you to where you are now, listening to me.”

            Harry didn’t understand English and always seemed somewhat confused when people told him stuff, but when Remus spoke, he’d go from either total, complete confusion, or a strange understanding. (All in his facial expression, of course.)

            “Who’s weirder--” James began, smiling at Sage while continuing to bicycle Harry’s legs, “me, who uses a fake language, Remus, who uses proper English, Sirius, who uses slang and sometimes barks, or you, who speaks French?”

            “Hey, I’ll have you know, I’m not the only one who speaks to him in French--”

            “August doesn’t count because he’s a repeat, but continue--”

            “ _And_ it’s not that weird-- he’ll know two languages! And he’ll know slang! And he’ll laugh at your gibberish, and he’ll... be confused, I dunno, at barking, and he’ll know all sorts of law and government terms from Wendy, and August will teach him all those lessons he needs to know but we don’t want to teach him - you know, like a cool uncle, with cursing and stuff - and Peter’ll be the one to teach him how regular British people speak.”

            “That’s sweet,” said James, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “But you and I both know August won’t be the one to teach him curses. He’ll figure them out on his own, hearing them from us or whoever.”

            James looked down at Harry again, making eye contact that caused Harry to smile again. Heart warmed once more, James grinned and cooed at him, “won’t you, Prongslet?”

            “I hope--” Sage was cut off by a knock at the door that made them both seize up. Looking away from Harry, James searched Sage’s eyes, both his and hers wide and anxious.

            “Were you expecting anyone?” asked James, fearing the worst. Harry’s feet squirmed in his hands.

            “No. But it could just be someone popping by unannounced. If it was... _him_ , he’d just come in, wouldn’t he? Not bother to knock...” Sage’s voice told James that she was just as uncertain as him.

            Sage stood, “I’ll go check.”

            “Sa--” James started to protest. Sage waved him off.

            “It could just be Bathilda, wanting to come for tea, you know... at noon. Whoever, I’ll be okay. Stay here, yeah?”

            James _didn’t_ want to stay there, but he did. Watching Sage get up and leave the room, his heart pounded. She stepped through the doorway, turned, and walked out of sight. He looked down at Harry again, trying to not freak out. He was hyper aware of his wand in his pocket.

            Harry smiled again and James’ heart lit up. This calmed him, but he still felt the pang of worry as he listened to Sage’s footsteps stop. She’d reached the door.

            Muffled voices came from the entryway, James unable to hear. Despite this, he could tell that the conversation wasn’t hostile, not completely. Nobody yelled, and their voices seemed almost pleasant.

            There was presumably only one visitor, as James could hear one voice along with Sage’s, both of them getting closer to the living room. Their voices were louder and louder, clearer and clearer, until they were right outside the doorway. Sage appeared first, a smile on her face that made James’ whole body untense, all worry fading away.

            None other than Albus Dumbledore followed after her, hands folded together, looking just as wise as always. Nodding, he listened to Sage, looking over at James and Harry with a smile.

            This wasn’t the first time Dumbledore had been over since they had Harry. He’d come once, during the few days after he was born. That visit was mostly him congratulating them, but before he left, there was a tense moment where he reminded them of the prophecy.

            It was impossible for him to have ignored it. They knew, the second he passed the threshold into the house, that he would bring it up. Before he did, they tried to ignore the constant reminder he brought with his presence, but found it was rather impossible. It was inevitable. They sat through the small talk of the beginning of his visit, sipping tea, wondering how he could ignore the thick air that encompassed them.

            This visit was all too similar. Despite James being happy to see the old man, he couldn’t help but wonder: _why is he here? Did something happen?_ And be reminded of how Harry had a target over his head (although he never really forgot, Dumbledore’s presence ensured it was the first thing on his mind).

            It really wasn’t as if James _didn’t_ want to see Dumbledore, but the man was busy. With Wizengamot, the Order of the Phoenix, and being Headmaster of Hogwarts, amongst other things, it wasn’t as if the hundred-year-old man had free time flying out his ears. If he visited, there was a fair chance there was a reason. (But, then again, this was Dumbledore. He didn’t seem to care for simple rules such as those imposed upon him by the universe and time.)

            Sage seemed to share his feelings, he noticed, as she sent him a glance through the corner of her eye. But, unlike James, she seemed ready to ask.

            “Dumbledore!” said James in a jovial voice, grinning and feeling suddenly very social. It seemed he only realized how bored he got cooped up at home when he had the slightest bit of a break. “I’d get up to greet you, but Harry seems to be enjoying staying horizontal.”

            Harry was indeed enjoying laying on his father’s lap, smiling and making throaty sounds that spoke towards his content. Dumbledore nodded. He seemed about to say something, but Sage spoke first.

            “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” she asked nicely, smiling and seeming a lot more sly than James had seen her in quite some time. As nicely as she put it, it was still made clear that she wanted to know why he was there.

            “I was hoping I could share a cup of tea and a pleasant conversation,” said Dumbledore, eyes on James. James’ hands were kicked by Harry’s tiny feet, making him look down and smile at the baby before watching Dumbledore once more.

            “I’ll go get the tea. Please, have a seat,” said Sage, smile still plastered on her face. She took a step back, out of Dumbledore’s field of vision, and gave James a ‘ _what the fuck_ ’ type look for less than a second before she left the room, heading to the kitchen.

            Dumbledore stepped closer to James, placing his hand on the arm of the armchair nearest him and peering at James over his half-moon glasses. He wore robes made of dark purple silk that seemed to shimmer in the light, flowing around him like water. As always, he seemed to float instead of walking, his robes moving in ripples of soft motion.

            “How are things with the Order?” asked James. He had been wondering what had been going on while he’d been stuck at home. It was a hope of his to start going back out there, on the field, fighting, soon. But he wasn’t a fool. He knew the likelihood of this happening was low, and he should stay home, and Dumbledore most likely wouldn’t let him do anything. Sage’d be mad, too, as she’d want to join him. All he wanted to do was simple stuff-- just patrolling again. Helping. There was only so much he could do, but his help really did benefit the Order.

            “I heard Moody brought in a big Death Eater,” said James. Dumbledore nodded, swiftly sitting down onto the armchair he’d been touching.

            “Alastor captured Igor Karkaroff, who has since been tried and sent to Azkaban.” He said this all not unlike a Muggle anchorman telling the news, the only difference being that Dumbledore seemed to have a tie to the case, unlike an anchorman, who would have a certain disconnect.

            James nodded, reaching up to adjust his glasses. Harry’s feet began to slow, dying down from kicks to gentle taps. The boy was falling asleep. His eyes fluttered closed and his breath came from his partially-opened lips softly as he drifted off. The conversation continued, the sounds of voices lulling him.

            Sage came back into the room with three cups of tea after Dumbledore had changed the subject. James was unhappy with how little the man had told him, but he did find out a few new things after they spoke of Igor and Alastor, such as how Voldemort was trying to get the giants to attack small villages for him, and how even more people had been killed, Muggle and Magical alike.

            What Dumbledore had changed the subject to, though, was unexpected. It wasn’t strange, but James still was thrown off. Dumbledore had asked him about his dad’s old invisibility cloak. For whatever reason, he was very interested in it.

            It wasn’t as if Dumbledore had not known of the cloak before then - in fact, he’d known of it for quite some time. There was a night in 1972, when James was at the end of his first year, when he and his mates had run into Dumbledore at night. The Marauders (then not called such, as the name came about later on) were surprised to see the old man and stopped in their tracks.

            But,they were protected by the invisibility cloak. So they stood still, hardly breathing (Sirius had to elbow Peter so he would stop letting out such heavy breaths) as they waited for Dumbledore to pass.

            James never knew if it was because he heard them, whether it be their footsteps, their voices (they had been whispering only seconds before), or their breathing, or if perhaps there was a part of the cloak ridden up where he could see bits of their shoes. But Dumbledore looked right at them and said “ _you four should get to bed. You’ll need rest for those classes tomorrow._ ”

            In the moment, all four boys swore Dumbledore could see them through the cloak.

            Dumbledore had never really brought this up again, leading James to believe he’d forgotten. But he was proven wrong.

            “I’ve found myself becoming curious about invisibility cloaks,” he said after thanking Sage for the tea she gave him. She smiled and sat next to James, placing his cup on the table in front of them.

            Sage sipped her tea, but James was all-too aware of the baby in his lap and how hot the liquid would most likely be, not wanting to take the chance of possibly spilling any on Harry by picking it up. His cup remained on the table, steam rising from it faintly.

            “I was wondering, James, if you’d let me borrow yours. Not forever, of course.” Holding his cup in his hands, Dumbledore eyed James. “My intention is to study it, in a way. To understand.”

            James thought for a second, _understand what?_ But then told himself, _obviously how it’s invisible. The magic behind it, probably._

            “Of course,” said James, adjusting Harry’s head so it lay better and safer, as it had been inching into an uncomfortable position. “I can get it for you.”

            With that, James slid his hands underneath Harry, picking him up gently. Sage hurried to put down her cup before he handed her the baby, taking him and holding him lovingly, smiling down at the sleeping boy.

            Sliding forward, James looked at his lovely wife and adorable son with a grin before he stood. He headed out of the room, mind running quickly as he attempted to remember where he put the cloak. In his room? The cupboard with a lot of the rest of his school stuff? He hadn’t really used it since his dad died and it was left to him. (It was a bit ironic, wasn’t it? He only really used it when it wasn’t his, and belonged to his dad? Typical.)

            After a few seconds of debate with himself, standing in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, James decided to just use magic. He pulled out his wand, gave it a wave, and muttered the summoning charm.

            Not five seconds later, the cloak came floating down the stairs, flying into James’ hands and going limp. Holding the silky fabric with one hand, James put his wand back into his pocket and looked at the cloak.

            The cloak held thousands of memories inside of it and invoked deep emotion in James, causing him to stare at it, letting flashes of memory pass in his mind, not focusing on one specific memory.

            He and his three friends, sneaking into the Astronomy tower to throw things off of it (including but not limited to: eggs, minor explosives, and fruit). Him, being super creepy and stalking Lily around (and Sage, a couple times). Going to the Kitchen to steal snacks. Running into Sage in the Kitchens and promptly, before she saw him, hiding back under the cloak because he panicked and had yet to really speak to her. Sneaking around the castle, mapping out it all, with his mates.

            A smile melted onto his face and his hand held the cloak a little tighter. Moving it in his hands, he turned around and began to walk back into the living room. Dumbledore and Sage were talking about something having to do with Wendy and the Ministry that James didn’t add to as he sat back down next to his wife.

            “Ah, James,” said Dumbledore when James came into his field of view. James handed him the cloak, smiling sadly as he gave it over.

            “It was my dad’s, but he still let me bring it to school. It’s mine now, obviously, and I bet I’ll be giving it to Harry before he goes off to Hogwarts.” Smiling at Harry, who was still asleep, James liked thinking about things like that - how Harry’d be when he got older. He could be anything, but James knew he’d be a troublemaker in some way - he had to be, with James as his father and the rest of the Marauders having such a say in raising him.

            “I’ll be sure to return it to you well before then.” Dumbledore smiled, running a hand over the fabric. “Invisibility cloaks are quite peculiar. Often they are made of Demiguise fur and lose their effects over time. As I am to believe, this particular cloak has yet to begin to turn opaque, am I correct?”

            “Yeah, it hasn’t, even though it’s really old. It’s a family heirloom, centuries old, as my dad told me.” James looked at the cloak, feeling strange seeing it in Dumbledore’s hands, but he couldn’t quite place why.

            “Strange...” Dumbledore trailed off, inspecting the cloak with a furrowed brow for a few seconds. He looked up at James again and his brow smoothed, a smile appearing on his face, erasing the serious and studious look he had seconds before. “Thank you, James.”

            Saying nothing, James dismissed the old man with a wave of his hand and his own smile. Beside him, Sage shifted her legs. The conversation continued for a few minutes, their tea cups becoming more and more empty, until they had drank it all. Dumbledore took the last sip of his drink before placing his cup onto the coffee table and leaning back.

            There was a sudden shift in the air, like he’d just flipped a switch that caused everything to go tense. He hadn’t said anything, only sat back, as if he were about to bring it up. Like in a motion, he’d said, _‘now we have to get down to business..._ ’ or something.

            “I’ve been to see Frank and Alice,” said Dumbledore. Sage’s hand found James’ in a desperate grab. He squeezed back, trying to pass comfort through their woven hands. Dumbledore let out a breath. “I know I don’t need to go over things with you. You know of the prophecy and you know what is to come as much as I do. We are all in understanding of what can happen, but I want to be sure we are doing all we can to ensure the worst doesn’t come to pass.”

            “What all can we be doing?” asked Sage, holding James’ hand in a grip that began to cut off his circulation (still nothing compared to her grip while she was in labour, though. James was pretty sure she’d moved some of his bones around permanently).

            Dumbledore took in a breath, “there are protection charms we’ve cast, I know, and the three of you stay home most of the time. I want to bring up things concerning this. As I am to believe, both of you want to come back to working with the Order, am I correct?”

            They both nodded, so he continued.

            “This is a complicated matter, as it is unwise to have you both out at once. And you’d be doing simple tasks, nothing too big or dangerous.”

            “That’s understandable,” said James, stroking his chin and glancing at the window, where the day shined through in beams of gold. “One of us stays home, the other does stuff like patrolling, where we don’t have big chances of running into too much trouble.”

            Nobody had to mention what might happen if they did run into a lot of trouble, as they could all imagine. Death wasn’t the worst possibility. Harry would be in danger, too, if either of them ran into Voldemort. It could end with all three of them dying.

            Nodding wisely, Dumbledore agreed. “I do not wish to pressure either of you into coming back too soon, but us at the Order do miss you-- Sage’s friendly nature and James’ sense of humour,” he gestured to each of them as he said their names, praising them in a way that made them sit taller and feel better.

            “But taking care of an infant is certainly a full-time job.” The old man smiled at them before glancing at his teacup again, “I hate to go, but I’m afraid I’m expected back at Wizengamot before dusk.”

            Hopping up, James said his farewells to the old man along with Sage, both of them smiling and waving goodbye as he disapparated. The familiar crack of the magic teleportation woke Harry, causing him to erupt into his unhappy self, screaming and crying.

            Infants really were full-time jobs.


	61. Sixty-One

            The smells of alcohol, sweat, and cigarettes mixed together in an intoxicating perfume and hung in a cloud in Sirius’ living room. Perhaps it was disgusting to other people, but it smelled more like home to Sirius than anything. It smelled like freedom - the bitter opposite of dusty, moth-eaten family heirlooms with curses on them older than time itself.

            Windows closed and curtains drawn, the outside of his flat was a separate and different world. Sirius sat in the dark, the only light in the dark night from the lit end of his cigarette. It glowed red, cutting through the dark, casting a faint glow onto the fingers holding it.

            When he exhaled, he couldn’t see the smoke rise into the air, but he felt it in his lungs just as much as he could feel his heavy-beating heart. He didn’t know why his heartbeats were so strong, but he could feel the veins in his arms popping out from under skin, the warmth of his flesh becoming too much to bear.

            He could open a window, yes, but they were closed to keep in smoke. The curtains were drawn so he wouldn’t see the moon.

            Full, just like the one on his skin, the moon was a constant reminder of something he didn’t want to think about. But he was hot. So with another swig of whiskey, Sirius let out a sigh and stood finally. His legs were tired, feet aching, and eyes burning as he walked through the heavy smoke, navigating through the dark to the window.

            Hands grabbed randomly at the curtain before pulling them back, the black fabric parting down the middle, moving to the sides of the window and settling calmly. Light from the full moon and streetlights broke through the darkness. A silver glow fell over the whole of his living room, shining in streaks in the air where it caught on the smoke.

            Sirius didn’t turn to look at his living room, though, as he knew what it looked like, whether it was bathed in moonlight or soaked in the light of day. Holding the cigarette between his teeth, Sirius’ gruff and callused hands opened the window, sliding the glass pane up. It stuck, but his hands stay on it for extra seconds, letting smoke billow out, fresh air mixing inside.

            His hands fell from the wood of the window’s frame, right hand’s fingers taking the cigarette out of his mouth as another cloud of smoke came from him. In one fluid movement, he’d leaned down and stuck his head out the window, elbows sitting on the sill.

            The way he looked was poetic, smoking out of his flat’s window with the full moon’s light falling onto him from its position high in the sky. Underlit by the street lights, he had a heavenly glow about him, black hair glistening around his head and shoulders as if he were a ethereal creature. But then again, he always was poetic, as his very nature was soaked in beauty and tragedy.

            He took another drag and stared at the moon. Something inside of him panicked, as it always did - an alarm clock he no longer had to listen to but didn’t know how to shut off. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do. Remus didn’t need him anymore. He’d be fine on his own, just as he had been for the past months.

            It was strange to him that Remus didn’t need him anymore. He’d spent so long dealing with his transformations, the shift to doing nothing was sudden and strange.

            Sirius hadn’t just been the dog who kept him from scratching himself, though. Along with dealing with his wolf self, Sirius spent hours every month taking care of Remus himself. From bringing him food to doing his homework, Sirius did everything he could to help.

            How, he wondered, did Remus get by on his own? What did he do, when he was too tired to get up and eat? When he got dizzy from simply sitting up in bed? Sirius didn’t know how Remus took showers on his own - he could remember having to hold him up to keep him from collapsing, to keep him from slipping under water. Did he do that on his own? He was always too stubborn to wait.

            If he fell, what did he do? Lie there? There wasn’t anyone there to hear his body crumble onto the floor, nobody to help him up. Did he just stay on the ground until he’d found the energy to stand again?

            This happened every single full moon, without fail. Sirius would spend all night worrying, for no fucking reason, telling himself he was worrying for no _fucking reason,_ and hating how much this still affected him. He didn’t sleep.

            Sirius didn’t know where he went to transform. Remus _said_ it was his flat, but a few months ago, when Sirius couldn’t help his aching worry, he went there to check on him, but he wasn’t there. He didn’t know where he went, if that month was an exception, and he was too scared to check.

            This was pathetic, he knew. As his skin cooled from the fresh air, his heartbeats got slower and less desperate. What was he to do to stop his worrying mind, to keep his thoughts calmer, but dive into self-destruction?

            It was a deep, deep pool full of black water he swam in - but he didn’t get wet. He swam down, down, down, trying to reach the bottom but he never knew where it was. Inches away, or feet? Was he to die before he reached it, or was it just about to brush against his fingertips? He needed to come up for air, but if he was just about to reach the depths, what was the harm of going only a little further?

            There were a few reasons for him to turn back and float up to the top again, and he kept them in his mind every time he got in so deep he couldn’t see the light shining through the black surface.

            Remus would be fine wherever he was. He had wolfsbane to keep his mind intact while his body destroyed itself. Somewhere, probably in his flat, Remus sat as a wolf, most likely sleeping. Okay.

            The cigarette ran up, turning useless. Sirius stared at it for a second, almost glaring, before he ducked back inside. Shutting the window, he used the light from the moon to see his way back onto his couch, and sat in the divot he’d created from jumping on it that one time. Placing the cigarette butt into his ashtray, he leaned back against the cushions, really wishing he could sleep.

            Maybe his cute neighbour was up. It was unlikely, but… he did hear them moving around not five minutes ago. He was clever - he could come up with an excuse to see them, and then… things could fall into place, as they always did.

            Hours later, when dawn began to rise over the horizon, Sirius returned to his couch with tangled hair, bruises, and bite marks (not unlike those he used to get every full moon), smelling like alcohol, sweat, cigarettes, and sex.

  
            It was well after morning by the time he got home, clothes falling off of his lanky frame loosely, hair ruffled, and bags under his red eyes. Every blink felt like needles were being shoved into his eyeballs, every step he took sent bolts up his already aching spine. His side had stopped bleeding, but he felt the pain of the wound slashed across it pulsed with every beat of his heart. Drained of energy, Remus stumbled the few steps to fall onto the couch.

            The long gash on his side was deep and hurting, but he didn’t have the energy to fix it himself. It was a shock to him that he was able to Apparate home, as he didn’t think he could focus enough. But he did, and all he could do was collapse and sleep. (Merlin, he really wished he had energy - he needed a fucking shower, too, but would probably end up drowning and be too tired to notice.)

            September’s moon had not been a potent one, and he shouldn’t be feeling this tired, if he was doing what he was supposed to - taking his potion every day like a good boy. The only reason he was tired, beat up, and not drinking daily doses of wolfsbane was because Dumbledore needed him to do so.

            Well, not _exactly_ , but Dumbledore needed someone to infiltrate the underground society of werewolves - as they were supporters of Voldemort - and who better to do this than Remus? So to get these werewolves to trust him, he had to act like one of them, act like he was loyal to them. Do what they wanted him to do.

            So he stopped taking the wolfsbane and went with them all to transform, as long as they swore they wouldn’t be harming anyone. He became a totally different person every time he was working with them - which had been getting more and more often - so much so that often, he found himself worried that maybe he was turning into the character he played almost every night.

            He was wrong, of course - but he couldn’t help but wonder where all the material he got came from. Before he had even met them all, he was coming up with new opinions, new _bad_ opinions that he used in his fake persona. Things he told them were terrible, but he wondered - was this what he felt, deep down?

            The story he came up with went like this: Remus spent his whole life wanting to be different, not wanting to be a monster. But people, everyone he knew, stayed scared of him. They claimed the opposite, but they hid the truth, so he decided to become the monster they all thought he was.

            The fake Remus was well aware of who the wolf side of him wanted to be, and he wanted that to be the rest of him. The werewolves accepted this, and gave him grins that showed off their sharpened canines. They related, they told him, and were glad he’d finally figured out where he belonged - with the pack, fighting to get werewolves better lives through supporting Voldemort.

            Going along with them and pretending to be this not-Remus was hard in more ways than one. He was never a good actor (a good liar, maybe, but not actor), and this went beyond simply pretending. He regularly had to go against the simplest of his morals, the very base of his sense of right and wrong, opposing his deeply-held beliefs.

            But it helped the Order, so he did it. He went with the blackouts that happened each full moon, went with them to transform, went with pretending to be someone he wasn’t. It was something Dumbledore told him to do, so he did it.

            He could’ve easily said that not being able to tell anyone what he was doing was the worst part. Keeping it from those he loved even when they asked why he acted strange. He could’ve said keeping secrets was the hardest. But it wasn’t.

            The worst part was the loneliness, the uncertainty, the terror he felt over not remembering what he’d done while in his most dangerous state. The unknowing if he had hurt anyone.

            Laying on his couch, he shifted around slightly, barely turning his torso to lean on its unharmed side. A hiss escaped him - although he’d moved to try to make things easier, the simple act of moving caused a flash of pain in his side, the cut angry at him.

            The gash on his side was not the only wound he’d gotten that night, but it was certainly the worst. There were cuts, smaller, on his face, littering his skin as if a window had exploded and glass had grazed his cheeks and nose. They ranged from smaller than the thickness of a fingernail to lines resembling someone who’d taken a quill dipped in red ink to pale tan parchment.

            He couldn’t remember getting them. He’d been teased for not having as many scars as the rest of them, when he’d first started working undercover, but over the past few months, he was getting there. He hoped it wouldn’t get too bad - some of them had more scars than they had unharmed flesh, the ghosts of slashes covering every inch of visible skin.

            He could only pray nobody would notice. James would insist they join him again, or something, Sage would panic and start making the wolfsbane herself again (she’d been told that Dumbledore had someone making it for him so she wouldn’t have to), Peter’d question what he had been doing, and Sirius… would be himself.

            There was a knock at the door that somehow sounded both firm and pathetic at the same time. It came in three, three knocks milliseconds after each other Remus opened his eyes at. Who would be visiting him, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the old lady across the hall. She could survive without borrowing sugar from him as she did so often (Remus felt bad when he told her to just buy her own sack or something, but she’d been coming to him for a cup of sugar every time she made cakes. She really loved making cakes.), he decided, so he closed his eyes again.

            Not more than thirty seconds passed before the three knocks came again, harder and much more aggressive. Remus opened an eye, peering at the door as if he could see through it from his spot on the couch, as if whoever wanted him would just open the door themselves and come in to bother him. He really didn’t want to get up, and the thought that it could just be a salesperson or such made him even more reluctant to do so. Couldn’t whoever it was just leave a pamphlet for a church he wouldn’t go to and leave him alone?

            Another three, this time accompanied by a voice that spoke just after the first knock. It was muffled by the door, but he still understood the words.

            “ _Remus, come on, I know you’re in there_.” A pause, during which Remus felt obliged to sit up, doing so while holding his side. The voice came back, “ _Moony, open the door._ ”

            This was what caused him to stand, hobbling over to the door and unlocking it, peeking out at the visitor before opening the door all the way, trying to hide how he stood at a hunched angle in an attempt to stave of his side’s pain. He could’ve opened it with magic, he knew, but he didn’t.

            “Sirius,” said Remus, poking his torso out of the crack the door stood open. “What’re you doing here?”

            He shrugged, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket. Looking at the floor, he mumbled, “I dunno. Wanted to see if you were okay, I guess.”

            “W--” Remus’ brow furrowed as he stared at Sirius, adjusting the way he stood. Thoughts ran through his head, but he equated all of it down to asking, “ _why_?”

            Sirius shrugged again before he finally looked up at Remus. His eyes focused on his face, making Remus certain he’d noticed the cuts spread on his skin. Frowning, Sirius scanned him.

            “Where’d the cuts come from? Wh-- open the door, let me in--” Squeezing his way into Remus’ flat, Sirius looked over him and closed the door behind him. Remus stood silent, watching Sirius as he noticed how there was very obviously something wrong with his side. “What’s happened?”

            It was Remus’ turn to shrug, and he did so faintly, swatting Sirius’ hand away as it reached toward the wound. “Mission. Something went wrong. It’s fine.”

            “It’s very obviously _not_ fine, Remus,” scolded Sirius, chuckling dryly. “I saw you yesterday, you were fine. Are you trying to tell me you went on a mission _last night_?”

            Curse Sirius and his logic. Remus sucked his tongue, crossing his arms, elbow protecting the fresh wound. He opened his mouth to answer, but Sirius added another question.

            “Did you not take your potion?” he asked, an easy out Remus didn’t want to take.

            “No, I did--” Remus hugged his arms closer to himself, looking at the pocket of Sirius’ jacket while Sirius ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

            “Then what?” he said, hands coming close to shoving Remus but never hitting his chest, as if Sirius wanted to hit him but not to hurt him and knew even a slight slap could end up meaning so much more - he didn’t know all the wounds Remus had. “Why did-- What’s going on with you? You’ve been acting so weird lately, I hardly see you, never know where you are--”

            Sirius stopped abruptly, close to fuming. Remus couldn’t do anything but hope he’d respect the truth in the second he decided to tell it.

            “I can’t tell you,” said Remus, making Sirius scoff angrily.

            “You don’t trust me,” he said, firmly and meanly, as if this was a fact. Remus breathed a huff, uncrossing his arms to point at the other boy, beginning to feel the fire of anger in his stomach.

            “Don’t pull that on me - you know we both have secrets we’re keeping. Dumbledore trusts me.” Remus crossed his arms again, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to ignore how tired he was, how he should be in bed and not on his feet arguing with Sirius.

            Sirius scoffed again, his weight shifting onto the leg he had behind him, angling his body aggressively, eyeing Remus over.

            “Whatever,” he said harshly. “I came to see if you were okay, but I guess that was a mistake. Bye.”

            As Sirius turned around, Remus tried to hold himself in - he really did - but found himself too frustrated to be able.

            “God, Sirius!” said Remus, his very words dismissive, like a tired groan and a scoff mixed into one. “You can’t just show up here and expect things to go your way! I have secrets I can’t tell you! Why can’t you respect that?!”

            Having turned back around halfway through Remus’ ranting, Sirius looked Remus over and shook his head, sucking his teeth and giving a silent dry chuckle. Sirius’ stormy eyes bore into Remus’ and for a few seconds, Remus thought the boy was going to lunge at him. But he didn’t. He just turned to the door again, and this time took a step toward it.

            Just as he was about to take another step, Sirius paused to turn and look at Remus, who had placed his hand on his side and was reaching the other out to grab onto the end table next to him to steady himself. Remus didn’t dare take his eyes off of Sirius, so he saw as the boy let out a reluctant huff and turned back towards him.

            Sirius stormed up to him, grabbing his arm in a manner both aggressive and gentle, and mumbled, “ _sit down_ ,” as he pulled the boy over to the couch.

            He sat on Remus’ right side, gruff hands wrapping around Remus’ wrist he held over his cut, moving his hand away. Almost growling, Remus tried to wiggle his hand away from Sirius’ grip, swatting at his other hand as it came towards the bottom of his shirt below the injury.

            “Sirius, stop--” Remus said as the game of him protecting his side from Sirius began, mostly containing pathetic swatting and Sirius grabbing his wrists. “ _Stop it_ , Sirius.”

            “You’re hurt,” said Sirius, as if this gave him permission. Remus was too busy fighting him off to glare at him, settling for furrowing his brow and scowling. “I bet you were going to go to sleep without doing anything, weren’t you?”         

            Remus didn’t respond to this, but said again, “stop it.”

            “You can’t do-- stop that, let me--” Sirius groaned, finally grabbing onto both of Remus’ wrists, holding one in each hand, forcing the boy to look at him as he placed Remus’ hands on his lap. “Let me help.”

            “I don’t need your help,” said Remus. He pulled his wrists out of Sirius’ grip, “I don’t need you to take care of me, Sirius.”

            Sirius didn’t respond to that, looking away from Remus’ eyes to focus on his side again. This time, when he reached to pull up the fabric of Remus’ shirt, the werewolf didn’t move, but sat there with his gaze ahead. A sigh escaped Sirius as he pulled the shirt up just enough to reveal the whole cut, and Remus grimaced from the sudden increase in sharp pain.

            The pain subdued itself into the same steady hiss. Remus’ eyes, that had clenched shut, opened again as Sirius spoke in a soft voice.

            “Remus...” he whispered. Remus could feel his eyes shift between the wound and his face, but he didn’t turn to return Sirius’ looks. He knew the dog was only trying to show his concern, but it had an underlying tone of scolding Remus didn’t appreciate, and he could still hear the hints of hostility.

            True to form, Sirius began in a gruff and scolding voice, “what did--”

            “If you’re going to heal it, do it. Don’t bother scolding me.” Perhaps he spoke a bit too harshly, but Remus didn’t care. He shut his eyes and let his head fall back onto the couch, very much wishing he was alone.

            He heard a breath from Sirius followed by him moving around slightly. A few seconds passed, and Remus had the undeniable sensation of his wound being stitched up. Now that he’d closed his eyes again, Remus didn’t want to open them until he had actually gotten to sleep. But he opened them once more as he felt the couch shift.

            Sirius shoved his wand into his pocket and was about to stand as Remus looked down at the cut on his side that had gone from a dark red gash to a lighter scrape. He let out a silent breath just as Sirius stood.

            He hadn’t _want_ to grab Sirius’ wrist, but suddenly, the warm flesh under his fingertips was no longer his own and Sirius was looking back at him. He had to say something, he realized, as he forced himself not to rub his thumb over Sirius’ skin.

            “I--” he began, still not aware of what to say. Desperate to find the right words, Remus searched his mind’s dictionary and found there were few things that fit. Damn. On his tongue sat thousands-- _millions_ of words and clever phrases, charming quotes and passionate pleas, but none of these long and convoluted things seemed right. Everything seemed like too much and too little all at once. He suddenly wished he had new words - something he’d never said before, new meanings and new feelings, that he could use for the very first time, without thinking of any other time he’d said the exact same thing, because this situation called for words like no other. It was a feeling that encased him wholly and hungrily completely uniquely.

            “Thank you.” The words came out far more certain than he really was of them, causing Sirius to look back at him. Their eyes met, as Remus nervously picked at his fingernails, ignoring what his mind told him to do in favor of logic.

            A tense moment was given an abrupt and harsh ending when Sirius turned towards the door once more and walked out of it without another word to Remus, who was left alone to lament until he passed out.

 

            “Hello, Harry.” Remus took steps closer to the baby who lay on the floor atop a soft blue blanket with a cat at his feet. He crossed his legs underneath him as he sat next to Harry, giving the cat a long stroke, the ginger hair smoothing back for seconds before going back to the fluffy, messy texture it had naturally.

            Behind Remus, in the doorway, James stood watching as Remus moved his hands to hold Harry so he sat. As Harry made an “eh” noise, Remus smiled at him, keeping his grip gentle and steady.

            “How are you this fine evening? Well? The weather certainly calls for one to be well-- the sun shines with no cloud obscuring it.” Smiling, Remus spoke to Harry as the baby stared up at him blankly.

            “Ah,” said Harry, as it was one of the only sounds he could make. Remus nodded as if this was a fitting response and Harry was doing a very good job of upholding the conversation. In the doorway, James smiled and shook his head in the universal gesture of saying ‘how silly’.

            “That’s lovely; I’m glad to hear it, truly.” Pausing, Remus wiggled his fingers so they hit Harry’s middle rhythmically and softly. “How is being a baby treating you? Not too boring, I hope.”

            Harry didn’t respond this time, only breathing as he looked at Remus expectantly. The young man was not bothered, looking right back at Harry with fervor.

            “Merlin, you’re weird,” said James, arms crossed.

            Remus looked back at him, “I’m trying to have a conversation here, James. Please.”

            Rolling his eyes at Remus’ tone, James turned around and headed away from the living room. He turned the corner and was no longer visible, leaving Remus alone with Harry. Still sitting, as Remus had him propped up, Harry made another noise, this sounding like “ugh.”

            “I know,” said Remus, looking back at the baby. “Very rude, isn’t he? Well, he is your father, so I suppose he’s got your best interests at heart.”

            When Harry just breathed, Remus shook his head and sighed. He moved his fingers, adjusting how he held Harry so the boy would be more comfortable. On the end of the blanket, Cruikshanks stretched and yawned.

            “Rude,” he said, as if he couldn’t believe James’ nerve. Turning to the cat, who was also looking at him strangely, he whispered, “can you believe him?”

            If Cruikshanks could’ve rolled his eyes, he would’ve done so. Instead, he blinked slowly before curling into a ball again and falling asleep, head resting on an outstretched arm. Remus smiled, but gave Harry a look like ‘can _you_ believe him?’

            “Anyway, as I was saying, I believe that being a baby, especially one as young as yourself, must be boring. But now that I think about it, I imagine it’d be quite the opposite - you’ve only just come into this world, you’ve got so many things to see, to experience, to learn. It’s almost every moment that you’re discovering something. I’d assume it would be quite tiring-- is that why you sleep so much?”

            “Ba.”

            “Fascinating,” said Remus, breathless, as if he was truly in awe at Harry’s words. Before he could say anything else, Harry made another noise, his tiny brow furrowing.

            “Ah.”

            “No,” said Remus on a gasp. “Really?”

            A grunt.

            “I am humbled and truly honoured you’ve decided to share this information with me. Would you like to know about adult life? It’s quite boring.”

            When Harry didn’t respond but continued to look at Remus expectantly, the werewolf got the hint.

            “Well,” he said, resembling a professor beginning a college lecture. He sat taller, cleared his throat, and wiggled his fingers that still held Harry in his sitting position, as the boy couldn’t hold himself up quite yet (he could hold his head, though!) and needed help to sit. “Being an adult is strange and complex. Emotions are less wild than they were in teenage years, but are more long-lasting and potent. Financial things are not the best, and relationships are made based on trust and mutual respect, you know? You get to choose your friends, and that’s nice.”

            Remus went on telling Harry strange facts about adult life until James came back and took Harry from him, telling the werewolf, “he needs a nap, Moony, no matter how intense the conversation you’re having is.”


	62. Sixty-Two

            The full moon of October was nigh, shining down at the Earth from its space among the stars, lying in its celestial bed and casting a silver light into the darkness of night. Stars twinkled, sprinkled onto the swirling black sky in a manner both foreign and familiar. Some people slept while many stay awake, only few noticing the fullness of the moon. A beauty they had become used to, seeing it without as much awe as they could’ve but believing that they were stricken with it. They did not know what it was like to see the moon for the first time, as they’d forgotten. Immune to the universe’s true ethereal and elegant allure, people were as awed as they could be. The world was magical, they knew, and a thing more detailed and complex than anything any artist could possibly dream of creating.

            In dark alleyways, on a night with a chill in its air, monsters hid in the shadows. They did not hide from the moon, but embraced her as their mother. They danced with the idea of submission and sunk their fanged teeth into the flesh of aggression.

            Creatures of the night hunted, on the prowl for fresh meat. They were hungry, whether it be for flesh or for something far more sinister, just like they were in stories innocent children who did not know true horror told each other around campfires. No matter how much these children claimed to not believe such monstrosities existed, they felt fear in their hearts, flickering and licking their beating insides like the fire they huddled around and viewed as safety. Fire provided a light that cut through the constant unknown that was the dark of the night. Children thought that if they were in the light, they were safe. But what kind of protection did that offer? They were still children and could not protect themselves from claws when they slashed at their skin and tore it apart as if it were wet tissue and fangs sharper than needles that would pierce them without mercy.

            Wind passed through the trees, rustling the leaves that had yet to fall and carrying some off with it as it blew. Brown and orange leaves flew on a chilly breeze across the night, painting the sky with the colours of autumn. An owl hoots in a tree not yet naked, its surroundings bare, sticks and branches reaching to the sky as if to touch the moon.

            Sinister beings lurked around corners, witches and goblins roam the streets three hours into the new day, riding on broomsticks above houses and laughing with nothing but evil in their souls. Children slept in beds with monsters of their own creation living only a mattress below them, kept up by worry, finally resting when their bodies could take watching no more. They held lit torches in their hands, ready to shine light on shadows dancing on their walls, and kept animals in their laps - stuffed guardians with hearts of gold and fur softer than clouds who combated nightmarish thoughts.

            It was October, chilly and eerie, with only seven days remaining - roughly - until All Hallow’s Eve would swoop onto the world, bringing with it very different things for every person it would touch. For some, this meant becoming plagued with nightmares, thoughts filling with doom and gloom, the sound of demons cackling with delight rippling in their ears and stench of rotted flesh burrowing in their nostrils. But for others, not so much.

            Monsters were not the only things lurking in this night. Hidden behind shadows, a wild dog took the terms of reality all humans believed to be true between its great big teeth, and snapped his jaws shut, sharp canine teeth creating divots in the rubbery rules of existence. He shook his head wildly, black fur rustling in the darkness, invisible to those who did not know of the magic he held inside of him. To those blind, he was a stray. To those who knew him, he was anything but.

            Putting aside the dog’s reputation, it is important to speak as to why this dog is so important as to have all of this introduction for him. This dog was not always a dog. In fact, being a dog was more of a hobby than a full-time occupation.

            Magic, pure and powerful, coursed through all of him, through his hands to his tail, the thing that allowed him to shift from dog to man. This was not strange to him. He was used to its majesty, just as you or I are free from awe over the beauty of the world. He knew it was amazing, but he had always had it with him and he knew it would always be there - just like we trust the sun to rise as it always does over the horizon every morning.

            The dog, a wizard, was a mysterious and elegant. He was a muse. Being the subject of heartbreakingly beautiful poetry came to him as easily as wind brushed through the world. Disobedience dripped from his sinning lips, thick black, glistening gold, sticky from being touched by sugar and intoxicating - draped in smoke and marinated in alcohol.

            He stood tall as a man, thumbs looped into the pockets of his jeans as he leaned against a wall cooly. Long black hair was gathered atop his head, elegant and rebellious. A thumb left his pocket, moving up to scratch his cheek, brushing over the hint of a scar from years before - the poke from a safety pin he’d pierced through his flesh.

            A breath escaped him that seemed to hold infinite possibility inside of it, a whole world housed in every single thing he did. Each breath he took, he released a part of himself into the universe. His breath would live on when he died and was gone - he will live forever in the marks he made on the world while his body fades and rots. It would stay beautiful in paintings and pictures, a thing of beauty captured for eyes yet to exist to behold.

            Kicking off the wall, he let his steps bring him forward, knocking on the door towards the end of an empty hallway. His hands were shoved into his pockets as he regretted his decision to come to this place - the feeling of worry had motivated him to go and had shifted, telling him to leave.

            Impossible hopes were proving themselves truly irrational as time ticked by - what he wanted would not happen, he knew. If he wanted to know the truth, he’d have to find another way to see behind the door standing in front of him. It was a blockade for his progression his mind hammered at, wild conspiracies burrowing in the folds of his consciousness.

            His head turned, stormy grey eyes looking over the vacant hall to his left, nothing but dust that flew in the yellow light hanging from the cement ceiling accompanying him. In a flash, the hall was empty and blank, the only hint of life the crack that echoed, hitting walls before it too died.

            Blockade passed, Sirius stood on the other side of Remus’ door and stared into the dark. The full moon’s silver light peeked through the windows, only hints of the glow entering the room as the moon moved across the sky. The slivers of silver fell atop a pile of old books and onto the shaggy carpet, not doing much in terms of visibility.

            Sirius whipped his wand, a light appearing at the end that let him see ahead of him, dim enough as to so it didn’t hurt his eyes. He surveyed his surroundings and Remus’ name fell from his lips in a stage whisper.

            The first thing he noticed was how very empty the flat was, how alone he found himself - the whispers did nothing. He called for a man who would not come. A man who wasn’t at home on the one night he should’ve had nowhere else to go.

            There were multiple reasons for Sirius going to Remus’ flat that night, but the thing that really got him off his ass was the worry of what might happen if he wasn’t there - that there’d be a repeat of the previous month and Remus would end up bleeding on his couch. In the corner of his mind, Sirius had a suspicion that Remus wouldn’t be home. What this meant, he did not know. All he knew was Remus was keeping secrets - big ones.

            As he searched the rest of the flat, Sirius unwittingly nurtured the ideas of distrust that’d sticken to him as if he’d stepped in it. Earlier that night, laying on his bed, Sirius had wondered where Remus was going off to, what he had been doing so often... he didn’t trust any of it. Whatever he was doing, Sirius knew it was bad.

            His search soon confirmed that there really was nobody there, solidifying the theories that had been swirling around him for months, stalking him like vultures, ready to feast.

  
            Halloween appeared both expectedly and suddenly - like an attack from a killer you knew was just around the corner - something which would obviously come to pass but was still alarming. The night of All Hallow’s Eve was supposed to be a clear one - night sky empty of clouds, witches flying by on broomsticks against the black heavens. Stars shined along with streetlights, casting light onto the streets where ghosts and ghouls walked, holding their mummy’s hand as they passed by princesses and astronauts.

            Well, they should’ve. In reality, this Halloween, nobody was walking outside unless they were dressed as mermaids-- a monsoon-level downpour opened up onto the whole of England, soaking anyone who walked outside, whether they did so for minutes or seconds. Looking out of windows showed nothing more than black - everything else was invisible in the mix of rain and the dark night.

            Either way, Sirius found himself visiting a fair number of people - acquaintances and friends - including the Potters, were he most definitely spent the most time, eating candy and telling Harry scary stories (this didn’t do anything, as he was a tiny baby and didn’t understand that he was supposed to be frightened, let alone actually be so).

            Sirius was utterly devilish (as always) in his vampire getup, wearing a black cape with blood red lining (that contrasted with his pale skin, making every inch seem like something to be _sucked_ \- he was sinful), much more eyeliner than necessary (that managed to look unbelievably gorgeous, accentuating his high cheekbones and deep eyes), and using his animagus abilities to grow his canine teeth out for the night (bright white, long, and pointy, one look at his teeth against his dark red lips had almost everyone wishing he would suck them - their blood, of course. Oh, Hell, he could suck whatever, as long as those beautiful lips would brush against the skin of their necks (amongst other things)).

            For as unbearably alluring Sirius was, Peter was grotesque. He had on an ugly brown sweater, light jeans, and red shoes. Only over at the Potter’s for a few minutes (mainly because they wouldn’t stop chastising him. “What are you supposed to be, Wormtail? A fashion disaster?”), Peter was asked what his horrid outfit meant - what his costume was.

            He’d forgotten it was Halloween.

            He left not too long after that, tired of the laughs from both James and Sirius, rolling his eyes and shooting banter back at them as he disapparated.

            James was something funny, his costume a pun by nature, that Sirius had enjoyed for a few minutes, but promptly forgot all about when he saw Harry. Harry, who turned three months old that day, was wearing a costume of his own, dressed up as an owl.

            It was adorable - Sirius couldn’t remember anything about it other than that. What colour it was, what it looked like, he forgot. The only thing Sirius walked away with (it was hard to do so) was the knowledge that Sage was very good at getting her son ready for the spooky holiday.

            Harry, trying to eat his hands, smiled at Sirius the Vampire and caused the man’s resolve, which had before then been something like the feeling conveyed by wiggling eyebrows, to melt away. Sirius fell to the floor, cooing and poking at Harry, his dramatic cloak fanning out around him.

            The plans Sirius had for that night were thrown out the window in his want to stay with his godson and play (he feared he was going quite soft) until Harry had to be put to bed, when Sirius cleared his throat and pretended like he hadn’t just squealed in delight when Harry gave him a grin and made a sound not unlike a laugh (he was getting there). He hung around for some time after, eventually saying goodbye to Sage and James to go to his cute neighbor’s party, where he slipped back into his devilishly handsome personality, not bothering to be subtle about dragging his long canines against his bottom lip. It would cause a light line to appear that would soon be replaced by even darker pink, a move that made a handful of people stare at him slack-jawed, practically drooling.

            And he would never have told any of those people that his lips had, earlier that night, been making funny noises and blowing raspberries at a very cute baby he was the godfather of.

 

            Harry Potter thought that his father was the funniest thing in the entire goshdarn universe (pardon my language). Almost every time James opened his mouth, Harry would burst into a fit of giggles, watching his father make funny faces and silly noises. James would pull up Harry’s shirt to blow a raspberry on his bare belly, and Harry would launch into a fit of hysterics, hiccupping and smiling so wide his chubby baby cheeks totally changed the shape of his eyes.

            James Potter thought that his son was the cutest thing that had ever existed in the entirety of existence. James Potter was correct.

            Sage Potter spent most of her time trying not to cry at how much she loved the funniest man in the universe and the cutest thing in existence, in all honesty amazed she could love something as much as she loved the two of them.

            Their family was sickeningly sweet but none of them cared, as they much preferred the blinding light of being together than the impassable darkness of the war outside their doorstep.

            But, that being said, they (Sage and James, not Harry. Harry didn’t understand _colours_ yet, let alone the war.) thought about the fighting often. It was constantly on their minds, whether at the forefront or hiding in the background, it was always there and frequently rearing its ugly head to remind them of what was going on by giving them flashbacks to what they’d seen.

            It didn’t help their worry that they were the parents of a baby who could’ve turned out to be the Dark Lord’s downfall. Harry was in danger and they hated it, but did all they could to protect him and make things not as stressful.

            One of them always stayed home with him, wand on them at all times, and tried their hardest to not worry about the other whilst they were gone.

            It wasn’t long ago when James started going out again to work for the Order. He had only done one or two things, and they were so little that he was in virtually no danger (he’d delivered a package from one spot to another, pressed a button, and left), but it was a start. Soon, he and Sage would be alternating going on patrols and fighting again, which they were all-too prepared for.

            Sage was out, one November afternoon not long before her birthday (only six days until the 30th, when she would be turning no less than twenty-one!), visiting the old man who had been her employer when she worked in his bookshop. She’d quit the job to focus totally on the Order, but still went and visited the man occasionally, as he was good company.

            So James was at home with Harry. The baby had just been put down for his nap, allowing James time to relax. Moving into the kitchen, James decided to sit down and listen to a record, something he hadn’t done in quite some time.

            But, as usual, it didn’t work out the way he planned. Whist he boiled some water to enjoy a cup of tea, the silence was broken in his kitchen as nobody but Sirius Black waltzed into the room, acting as if he owned the place. James rolled his eyes as he pulled a cup out of the cabinet, and turned to face the young man. He placed the cup on the counter behind him and raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms, as Sirius dove into the pantry.

            “If you’re looking for those biscuits you like, there aren’t any,” said James. “You ate them all last time and we haven’t gotten more yet.”

            Sirius tutted, pulling back out of the pantry with a scolding look on his face. “Prongs, you’ve failed me. Really have.”

            Rolling his eyes again, James stared at Sirius, who smiled cheekily but avoided James’ eyes. Something was wrong, he could tell. But before he could ask what was bothering him, Sirius let out a heavy breath.

            “Sage out?” he asked, causing James to nod. “Where’s Harry?”

            “Asleep.” James quickly added, “don’t wake him up, I’ve only just gotten him to sleep.”

            “You’re no fun.” Another heavy breath escaped him. He crossed his own arms, hugging his sides, and moved to lean on the counter just next to James. “I’ve just gotten back from a mission.”

            “Oh, yeah?” asked James, turning to face Sirius so his hip leaned against the cool counter. “How’d it go?”

            He had a strong suspicion the answer would be negative. Perhaps, he thought, this was why Padfoot looked so upset. Sirius moved so he faced James, the two of them a foot apart.

            “Not the greatest.” Sirius looked at the floor and his eyes closed for a second as he seemed to consider something. When they opened again, they were fixed on James and full of an emotion James recognized and did not wish to see.

            James didn’t say anything, as he hoped Sirius would elaborate on his own and share what had happened. Sirius decided to bring up a conversation point James had thought died months ago instead.

            “I know you told me to forget about it,” he said, voice very solemn as he looked down again, eyes dark and voice humorless. “But I can’t--”

            Cutting himself off with a breath, Sirius closed his eyes and sighed before fixing his gaze on James again. “There’s a spy in the Order.”

            James didn’t know what to say. He made a noise that showed this, causing Sirius to speak again.

            “I know you don’t believe me, but I’ve seen more things, and I just... there’s a spy, James.” Sirius let his arms fall to his sides, letting his defences down. A sigh came from James before he spoke.

            “Sirius, it’s not that I don’t trust you, or that I don't believe you. If you really do think there’s a spy, I’ll back you up on it. But are you _sure_?”

            “James, there’s no other explanation. I don’t want this, but what other answer is there?” Sirius gave a dry chuckle, face humorless.

            “I... I don’t know.” It was hard to admit this, as James really wished there was another answer and that he knew it. Something like “oh, Dumbledore’s been planning a surprise party!”

            A silence passed between the two of them before James spoke again. Sirius was telling the truth, and he believed him. Wholeheartedly and without a single doubt.

            “Do you think you know who it is?” he asked, crossing his arms again.

            Sirius chuckled dryly, shifting his weight between his feet. “I have suspicions, but you won’t believe me.”

            “I will.”

            “You won’t.” Sirius put up his hand to silence James, who was about to protest again, before saying, “I think it’s Remus.”

            Sirius was expecting James to disagree, obviously, but he hadn’t been prepared for James’ clenched fist to hit his face. A sick crack sounded from his nose as he stumbled back, one hand on his face, the other grasping at the counter in a desperate attempt to steady himself as he fell. He barely escaped falling to the floor, looking up at James.

            “Yeah,” said Sirius, voice nasally and self-deprecating. “I deserved that a bit.”

            “A _bit_? Are you fucking kidding me?” James stared down at Sirius, ignoring his bleeding nose. “ _Remus_? Are you fucking kidding me?”

            “James, come on, you must’ve noticed--”

            “What the fuck?” Sage had entered the room, and hurried over to Sirius in a flash. Her hand on his chest and the other on his back, she helped him steady himself as she stared at James, glancing at his hand that had very obviously been the thing that had hit Sirius.

            “James, what the hell?” Sage both checked out Sirius’ broken nose and glared at James confusedly. “What’s happened?”

            Sage didn’t miss the look Sirius gave James, like he had a secret he knew James was inches away from spilling. Not meeting Sirius’ eyes, James made a noise not all-too unlike a scoff (it was much less pompous than a scoff).

            There was a look of consideration on James’ face as he debated his possibilities. Sirius was almost certain he give him up. Any hope of secrecy was shoved aside, ruined the second Sirius dared to suspect their brother.

            “Jame--” Sirius began, cut off by the man putting up his non-injured hand to silence him.

            “Don’t.” Speaking firmly, James shook his head at Sirius. He wasn’t aware of how strong his glare was until he saw the look in Sirius’ eyes, like the boy was scared James was about to throw him out. He was always like this - scared of being disowned. “Just... don’t.”

            “Are either of you going to tell me why the fuck I came home to this? You’re supposed to be best friends,” said Sage, completely and utterly confused. “Please tell me you haven’t had a dramatic fallout and now you hate each other or something.”

            “You going to tell her, or should I?” asked James, crossing his arms again and fuming at Sirius. His face felt hot, like he was about to blow his top. He didn’t wait long for the dog to answer before he spoke anyway, though he regretted it almost immediately. It was important to keep Sirius’ secrets, but this was a dumb one, James was mad, and Sage would find out eventually anyway.

            “This genius,” James began, gesturing at Sirius, “thinks Remus - _our Remus_ \- is a _spy_. For the Order.”

            “He what?” If it was possible for Sage to be more confused, she would’ve exploded. “Hold on,” she asked Sirius, “you think there’s a spy, for one, and you think it’s fucking _Remus_?”

            “I know it’s ridiculous, but--”

            “No ‘but’! It’s fucking ridiculous, and the fact that you aren’t joking right now is honestly terrifying to me!” Sage turned just as red as James imagined he would be if his skin was as light as hers. Her eyes trailed on Sirius’ nose, giving James the idea that she was close to punching him as well.

            “Yeah, things’ve been tense at the Order,” said Sage, starting a rant, “and I could believe you if you told me there was a spy. That could be the truth, and honestly, it’s probable and possible. Possibly even inevitable, with the Imperius Curse and all. But _Remus_?! You seriously think _Remus_ is the one who is in cahoots with Voldemort?! Of everyone in the Order, _Remus_?”

            “Sage, come on, you’ve got to have noticed how he’s been absent lately, how he’s come back from full moons with scars all over him!” Sirius, holding his nose, tried to defend himself, spare hand waving around as he argued. Sage scoffed, shaking her head and sucking her teeth.

            “I cannot believe you, Sirius,” she said dryly. “It’s Remus. You know him, don’t you? You’ve been his friend for the past nine years? What the fuck-- you _really_ think it’s him? _Really_? Why don’t you trust him?! He says he’s working for Dumbledore, he’s working for Dumbledore!”

            “It’s not Remus, Sirius. If there’s a spy, it’s not fucking Remus.” James’ voice was completely monotone, the only emotion he conveyed through his tone disappointment.

            “Whatever,” said Sirius, avoiding their eyes. “If it’s not Remus, then who is it?”

            “I don’t know, but it’s not him.” James almost hissed at the boy, than calmed down enough to add, “but we’ll figure it out, alright. We’ll figure out who it is, and we’ll turn them in, and they’ll go to Azkaban for the rest of their lives, and it still won’t be him.”

            With a frown, Sage pulled her wand out of her pocket, waving it at Sirius’ face and muttering the spell to fix it. The crack of the bone fixing itself was quiet, but much louder in the silent kitchen that had just been filled with angry voices. She shoved her wand back into her pocket, glaring at Sirius in a manner James knew meant she was already forgiving him.

            “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” she said. “But you _know_ it’s not Remus, right?”

            Sirius let out a breath and closed his eyes before nodding. James looked at Sage, a mental conversation passing between the two of them.

            “I’m not sorry for punching you, by the way,” said James, making Sage roll her eyes (but agree). Sirius shrugged, very eager to not have James look at him with such hostility (James being mad, he could handle. But the James a few minutes ago was a James who looked like he was seconds away from pointing his finger at the door and telling Sirius to walk out of their lives forever. He didn’t like that James one bit).

            “It was fair. I’m an arsehole,” Sirius said, trying to joke. James sucked his teeth, looking between Sage and Sirius before he sighed.

            “You sure are.” Nodding, James pulled open the drawer he stood next to and picked up a green cloth. He took a step to the sink, ran it under some water, wringing out the excess, before he got closer to Sirius. He dabbed the cloth at his nose, shooing Sirius’ hands.

            “Gimmie--” Sirius tried, attempting to grab the cloth to do it himself. James swatted his hands away and kept going.

            “No. You don’t know where the blood is, you idiot, I’m doing it for you.” Stubborn and motherly, James dabbed at Sirius’ face, the red of his blood slowly vanishing from his pale skin and appearing on the green fabric.

            “I’m going to check on Harry,” said Sage, taking a step back. “Don’t make any more wild accusations or fight again while I’m gone, alright?”

            Both boys made groans that voiced their reluctant agreement, allowing Sage to head out of the room, rolling her eyes. James continued to dab until Sirius’ face was full of blood, taking a step back and ignoring the hint of the idea of punching him again.

            “You really are a fucking idiot,” he mumbled. Taking the cloth back to the sink, James rinsed it out before leaving it in the sink and turning back to Sirius, wiping his wet hands on his jeans.

            Sirius watched James cross his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets, hunched over. “‘m sorry,” he said, so quiet it was barely even a mumble.

            “What was that?” asked James. Sirius was unable to tell if he had really heard him or not, but said it anyways.

            “I’m sorry,” he repeated, smiling awkwardly. “I’m an idiot, I know.”

            “Hell fucking yeah, you are.” James punched Sirius’ shoulder (lightly - not enough to do any real harm). “And you better not forget it if you ever come up with theories like this again.”

            “Ah, don’t worry about it, mate.”


	63. Sixty-Three

            Peter Pettigrew was always dependent on his friends to know who to be. He was only as good as what he could gather from them - their personalities fell off of them in flakes, like dead skin quickly replaced, that he would sweep off the floor and use himself. Whatever made them grow as people, what made them have their own opinions and ideas, he didn’t have. Maybe he was defective - like when people were created, on some type of assembly line, there was something installed in them that made them their own person. Made them brave, made them noble and charming and good-- all those things Peter was not.

            He had thought he was brave, when he was young. His ten-year-old self was brave when he mustered up the courage to talk to a kid much cooler than him. But to his twenty-year-old self, this was not really brave. It was no longer being as pathetic as possible.

            Peter knew he was not brave. He was a simple creature - concerned with survival and safety - self preservation even if that meant betraying what he believed were his morals.

            Morals were foggy and easily swayed, but death was constant. A never ending threat he adapted to escape.

            Some people didn’t need to adapt - they naturally eluded death, outsmarted it, teased it, all while knowing they would only fall into its hands when they wanted. Some didn’t fear death - whether they saw it as a natural thing, something bound to happen, or if they were just waiting to embrace the next great adventure. Some were ready - accepting of their fates, as they knew all things must end.

            It was not that Peter feared death. The idea of a blackness overtaking him and letting him abandon the world, leave his body and move on, he did not mind. As long as it was on his terms.

            He feared a young death. An early death, a violent, suffering death, a horrific and painful death.

            Peter could tell he was losing himself more than he had before. There were parts of him missing, fading away, decaying.

            His friends were something that made him feel better, more whole, even if only for hours, when he was around them. He needed them, but they did not need him.

            James had Sage. When Peter went to their home on a Friday night, he walked down their stone pathway, shoes hitting the rocks with a hollow slap, with the moon’s dim light falling onto him. Their curtains were drawn, windows covered in golden yellow as the light from inside peeked through the fabric. The lights were on, but when he knocked on the front door, fist hitting wood, nobody came to greet him. He strained his ears and knocked again. Nobody answered, but he could hear a faint ripple of laughter from deep inside the house.

            Hands shoved in his pockets, Peter shivered in the cold of December’s early night and took a step back. The world around him suddenly seemed much more real, suffocatingly so. The houses around him seemed to stare at him, the stone pathway suddenly like a twisting snake sitting under his feet.

            His hands were shaking in his pockets, so he clenched them into fists and disapparated, all the while feeling like the world outside of the Potter Cottage was one second away from pouncing on him and tearing him to shreds.

            Remus’ flat’s door was brown and sounded hollow when knocked, a knock that reverberated through the hall outside of the flat, much more quiet than what Peter felt it was.

            He could almost see through the door, at the messy living room he hadn’t been in in ages, as if any second Remus would open the door and reveal it to him. In his mind’s eye, he saw it - Remus sitting on the couch, reading a book of Greek dramas, standing up when he heard Wormtail’s knocking. He took long strides to the door, almost tripped over a pile of books he had forgotten to clean up, and unlocked the door. He swung it open and let Peter in, where they enjoyed a cup of tea and jokes.

            Peter was never very good at Divination.

            Remus did not come to the door. Nobody did - Peter just stood in the hall, staring at the hollow-sounding brown door expectantly, with no results. He was alone. So very, very alone, in a creepy concrete hall.

            When he got to Sirius’ flat, he was feeling terribly desperate, something he hated feeling - he hated the _word_. ‘ _Desperate._ ’ How pathetic. He hated begging, hated pleading, hated it all.

            Sirius’ neighbour was very obviously home, noises coming from their wall Peter cringed at. Banging, shouts, moans - things were fucking steamy and Peter really wished he didn’t have ears.

            Ignoring the heated moment (that really wasn’t as loud as Peter was making it out to be), Peter turned to Sirius’ door and knocked. Heavy and aggressive, his knocks came as a shock to him - they were the knocks of someone furious - not him. He wasn’t as mad as his knock (that sounded quite like the knocks of someone coming to collect debts, one way or another).

            Despite his knocks being those of someone you really didn’t want to ignore, the door didn’t move. It stay still while the moans got even louder, to the degree where Peter felt the sounds hammering through his skull, causing him to grit his teeth and disapparate once more.

            He was outside again, pulling his jacket closer to him to protect himself from the wintery winds. Knockturn Alley was familiar to him, so he didn’t bother to take in the creepy atmosphere and the unnatural darkness in its paths, a darker black than the sky anywhere else, ducking his head as to not be seen and hurrying into a closing door just as someone else left.

            Hiding his face from the patrons of the busy pub, every single one of which was wearing black robes, some with jewels adorning them and others sporting yellowed teeth, Wormtail walked quickly to the side. He waved off a witch who advertised to him some kind of ring she claimed could make him read minds and hurried to the side of the bar, where a large man with green skin and yellow eyes stood in front of a doorway he was bigger than.

            “Excuse me,” said Peter in a mumble, teeth clenched. The man, tufts of grey hair grazing the ceiling, looked down at the boy with a sneer.

            “Get lost,” he said, voice gruff. This was not a suggestion - it was a demand and a threat against not following his wishes. Peter didn’t move. “You not hear me? Move along, before I feel the need to squeeze and wring you out.”

            Peter, imagining this giant man picking him up and juicing him like an orange only to collect the liquid in a glass and drink it, tried not to be intimidated as he spoke again.

            “Can I get--?” he started, only for the man to cut him off.

            “Alright, listen here, mate. Bugger off, and we won’t have any issues.” The man looked down at Peter, who had stopped hiding his face as much. There was a second where their eyes met before the man let out a chuckle that sent a chill down Peter’s spine.

            “Hold on, do you want to get past me?” he said, as if this was a joke. To him, Peter wanting to enter was hilarious. He stood tall, looking at Peter again, still sneering. “No.”

            “I have the password,” said Peter, causing the man’s yellow eyes to narrow. He grunted, low and angry, as if to tell Peter to go ahead.

            In a low whisper, Peter said the password, “ _parasitorum ad mortem._ ” The man grunted again, leaning back in surprise and suspicion. He gave Peter a once-over, eyeing him as if he was debating if he was in the mood to eat him or not. After a second, the man’s narrowed eyes relaxed and he shrugged, moving to the side.

            “Thanks,” said Peter bitterly as he passed the man, heading down the stairs he’d been guarding. The man didn’t reply, and moved back to blocking the way immediately after Peter got onto the second step.

            The stairs were steep but had no railing, leading Peter to put his hands on the wall as if he could grab onto it, inching down into the small room. Chatter greeted him, shrill voice of a woman and annoyed sounds from men, even before he had reached the bottom of the stairs.

            Taking his hands off the wall, Peter stepped down the final steps, feet coming to contact the dark wooden floor. It was dark, as always, but still visible, thanks to the few lit candles on the walls. In the middle of the room was a large table with many of the seats taken, a handful of people looming over the wooden table drinking various beverages Peter couldn’t imagine being refreshing. He took the empty seat closest to the stairs, up against a wall. The man he sat next to, an arms length away, had a drink with an eyeball in it. Its bright blue iris focused on Peter after it swirled around in the amber liquid the man was sipping. Peter tried not to look back at it.

            “I guess their blood’s filthiness doesn’t bother you too much, Bellatrix, when it’s been shed.” A man, dark hair falling over his eyes from bangs that hadn’t been trimmed in ages, smirked in the direction of the wild-haired woman, who almost lunged across the table at him.

            “ _You take that back_ ,” she hissed, pointing her wand at him.

            “It’s not that it’s bad,” he said, slowly standing, “but I do find it funny.”

            He pushed away from the table, stretching his hands above his head. His long black robes seemed to blend into the darkness of the room as he grabbed the glass sitting in front of him and took a long sip, draining it of the rest of its dark red contents. Peter had a feeling that it was blood the man drank, something he really didn’t want to consider. It slid from the glass in clumps, slimy clots of red that slid down the man’s throat.

            “Inxile,” he said, in acknowledgement of the man to his left, then, “Kint,” for him on his right, before he stepped away from the table and walked upstairs.

            Bellatrix was fuming, her teeth grinding. As he vanished from sight, her head tilted sharply, revealing the pale white of her neck’s skin, so white it seemed almost translucent, even paler in contrast to her black robes and hair. Her jaw was sharper than a blade and lips redder than a rose, a beautiful woman if it weren’t for the way she moved, how she smiled and jerked her head around. And those eyes, wide and pale, swept over like a cloud of poison, full of madness.

            Her tongue flicked over her teeth, passing over her sharp white canines, and she growled. The man opposite to Peter rolled his eyes, irises yellow and glowing the way Remus’ did just before he transformed. Scars passed over his skin, one going from his hairline to down under his shirt, passing down his face and going through his eye in a deep, deep slash that created a divot in his face like a claw had scooped it out.

            This was not to mention the man’s other scars, or the teeth he had, like a wolf’s. Peter was, reasonably, unwilling to speak to this man - even more so when he smirked, half of his mouth turning up to give a glimpse of teeth able to tear flesh apart. Peter kept his head down.

            “Doesn’t matter,” said the animalistic man with his smirk, “blood tastes the same no matter how filthy it is.”

            “Perhaps. But we all know you prefer the taste of children, don’t you, Greyback?” Another man, the one who had been referred to as ‘Kint,’ spoke with a smirk and took a sip of his yellow drink. Greyback’s smirk got deeper and meaner, his eyes darkening.

            “Yes,” he said, smiling and acting as if he were talking about his favourite meal. Peter supposed he was. “Turn them young, take ‘em away from the parents, raise ‘em the right way... nothin’ better.”

            Peter had found out not all-too long ago that this man was the person who had bitten Remus when the boy was only four years old. It disgusted him to be in Greyback’s presence, but he had no choice.

            “How charming,” said the man beside Peter, swirling his drink with his finger - black with an  inch-long nail sharpened to a point - creating a whirlpool that caused the eye to spin.

            “You half-bree--” Bellatrix began, cut off by Greyback as he growled and warned her.

            “I don’t think you want to finish that thought, Lestrange.”

            “Ooh, what’ll you do to me if I don’t?” Eyes wide and wild, Bellatrix leaned in closer to him with a mad grin. “Tear out my throat with those sharp teeth of yours?”

            “I’d rather not - don’t want to catch whatever’s made you like... _that_.”

            To Peter’s surprise, Bellatrix did not get angry, but instead grinned and let out a shrill and high-pitched laugh. She fell back, pointing at Greyback for a second before grabbing her drink and downing the rest of the clear liquid.

            “You’ve got a tongue on you,” said Bellatrix, halfway between a smile and a snarl. She sat back, wild eyes scanning over the room quickly. Freezing, Peter made eye contact with her. She grinned, lighting up with recognition - she knew he was a spy; he’d given her information before.

            “You!” she squealed, pointing right at him. Peter gulped. “Rat!”

            “Y-yes?” he stammered, wishing he could go back to when she didn’t know he was there.

            “When did you get here?” Bellatrix took a long nail and picked at something invisible in her teeth, baring them to him. He shrugged.

            “Few minutes ago,” said the man next to Peter without looking at anyone, eyes focused on the eyeball in his glass as his finger chased it around the glass, sharp nail grazing it occasionally before it slid away again. “Who is he?”

            “A rat!” she giggled, making a horrific noise that Peter felt resembled nails on a chalkboard. The fact that they were having this conversation without him did not bother him, as he didn’t feel like talking.

            “Doesn’t answer my question, really, but whatever.” The man, voice gruff, let a breath fall from his nose quickly Peter presumed was supposed to be some kind of chuckle. His finger seemed to be getting tired of chasing the eyeball around in tiny circles, Peter noted, just as the man brought it out of the liquid and instantly jabbed it down, sharp, claw-of a nail piercing through it. It stopped moving.

            “Why are you here, rat?” Bellatrix asked, leaning her chin on her knuckles. Peter watched the man beside him take his finger out of his glass, eyeball skewered on his nail, and pop the thing in his mouth. He bit down heavily. Peter was able to hear a hint of a squish before he gulped and looked at the woman addressing him.

            “Uh, no reason, really.” Peter could feel his hands shake, so he held them below the table, folded together.

            “Hm,” said Bellatrix, eyeing him strangely.

            “How old are you?” asked the man next to Greyback, arms crossed over his chest.

            “T-twenty.” He hadn’t felt so young in a long time. This was like when he was a first year at Hogwarts and was separated from all other eleven-year-olds. Everyone was older and knew more than him. He was in a jungle and at the bottom of the food chain.

            The man grunted in response, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes flashed over Bellatrix before fixing on Peter again. “Twenty, huh?” he said, phrasing it as a question though he made it clear it was not. Peter nodded anyway.

            “That as young as you like ‘em, Greybeck, or are you more into tasty toddlers?” This was very much a power play, Peter noticed, as the man looked at Greyback in challenge and pronounced his name wrong, a move to show disrespect. Greyback didn’t seem all too bothered, but snarled at the man beside him.

            “Watch that tongue of yours, Travit, or you might find me sinking my teeth into that niece of yours.” The two men made intense eye contact, each threatening the other. “Five, was she?”

            “You really are a monster, aren’t you?” the man growled, leaned back, and kept his eye on Greyback as if at any time the werewolf might make good on his threat.

            “All wolves are, even if they pretend not to be.” Greyback smiled, strained and hostile. Looking away from the man beside him, Travit, he trained his eyes back on Peter. “You - Rat,” he said, causing Peter to almost squeak. “You met any werewolves before? I bet not. Don’t think you would’ve survived.”

            Greyback’s tone was increasingly threatening as he leaned forward and bared his teeth through smiles that made him look eager to tear Peter apart. Sweat fell from Peter’s brow he didn’t dare wipe off, too frozen to move.

            Seconds passed with Greyback looking ready to lunge over the table at him, constant eye contact unbreaking, before the werewolf looked away and laughed as Bellatrix chastised him.

            “Don’t bully the poor thing,” she said, grinning madly and giggling. “You’ll scare him off!”

            “Doesn’t look like it’d take much,” said the man next to Peter, smirking. The liquid he drank was tinged pink. Peter couldn’t be bothered to be offended.

            Bellatrix let out a shrill laugh, her head thrown back. Nobody in the room made the connection that she sounded like the Muggle depiction of a witch because they were all Pure-Bloods, but she sounded uncannily like a witch in an old movie. Even without the cultural affiliation, her laugh was chilling.

            “Did you lot hear about the Opostos?” As the man beside him changed the subject, Peter felt a wave of relief as it swept through his body. They all spoke together about some scandal with a family and the Ministry (“soon enough, we’ll take over that disgusting organization. Clean it of the Mudbloods and Muggle-Lovers, purify it...”). As Peter listened, he prayed he wouldn’t be brought into the conversation again.

            Every time he felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave, Peter found himself glued to his seat. He didn’t know if it was from fear or from genuine interest, but he didn’t move. More often than not, Peter was finding himself actually interested, listening to the conversations with a curious ear.

            When he had gotten there, there was no question that Peter regretted his decision - he cursed his friends, wanting to be able to be with them, angry at them for ignoring him even though he knew they hadn’t really done anything wrong. But after the conversation moved on so he was not its subject, Peter did not regret coming.

            Sure, he didn’t want to be with these people - they weren’t his friends and he didn’t really enjoy their company - but it was fascinating to him to hear them speak, to listen to them and see the way they moved and acted.

            A memory came to him from one of his later years at Hogwarts in bits and pieces. A girl told someone - possibly Sage - she should ‘at least be respectful’ of the Death Eaters, to listen to their arguments and hear what they had to say. Sage wasted no time in yelling back “you can’t reason with them! You can’t debate with them, you can’t _listen_ to them! They’re Death Eaters! This isn’t a discussion! All you need to hear is ‘I’m a Pure-Blood Purist’ and then you fucking punch them! It’s not that fucking hard!”

            Peter could remember when he agreed, when he thought that there was nothing worse than the Death Eaters. It wasn’t too long ago when he would’ve said they shouldn’t be allowed to debate because debating gave them a platform.

            But things change. He adapts - morals shift to make room for survival. Everything must run its course.


	64. Sixty-Four

            “Why,” started Sirius, hands shoved deep into his pockets and breath coming in puffs out of his mouth, “does winter have to be so cold?”

            “Dunno.” James shrugged, rubbing his hands together and blowing hot air onto them, “that’s kinda its thing, isn’t it?”

            “Winter needs to find a new ‘thing,’” he mumbled, frowning.

            The two of them walked through the darkness of the night, under their feet frosted grass crinkled with each step. Only an hour ago, it snowed pathetically. Powdery snowflakes fell from the sky and fell to the earth, leaving only a faint dusting of white between the still-visible green. There was not enough snow for it to be anything but a sign of the winter to come - no beauty or functionality in the miniscule amount of frozen water.

            James and Sirius walked, cold and annoyed, on patrol. They had a section of London to follow and inspect, and would walk down a few streets before they would meet up with two other Order members where two patrol zones met. Passing areas of danger and suspicion, the two boys followed the glow of streetlights and wished for this to be over.

            Patrolling was usually extraordinarily boring. Only occasionally would something happen, like their patrol paying off, but for the most part, everything was quiet. It wasn’t as if they’d joined the Order of the Phoenix to have fun or anything, but that didn’t mean they enjoyed being bored.

            They tried, though, to enjoy themselves - playing not-as boring games such as ‘Count the Streetlights’ and ‘Did We See That Cat Two Minutes Ago or Am I Making It Up’ and ‘Complain About the Weather.’ These things weren’t enough to _entertain_ them, but they found themselves free from a sticky silence they both despised.

            “Do you think Sage is curled up in a nice blanket right now? Like, she’s got a hot tea in her hands, but it’s just a little too hot, so she’s just sitting there and not being as fucking cold as we are?” James crossed his arms, shoving his hands into his armpits, imagining his wife on their couch, warm and comfortable.

            Now, Sirius _could’ve_ said something comforting, like “she might be warm, but I’m sure she’s missing you and wants you to come home safe,” and the idea of saying such did go through his mind, but instead, he settled for something he felt very much described his feelings better than something so sweet.

            “I want to kick Mother Nature in the balls,” he said, bitter. James’ head fell back and a laugh escaped him, quiet but warm, a cloud erupting from his mouth – his hot breath reacting to the cold air.

            “I can understand that,” said James, nodding and grinning, “and would like to add punching Jack Frost in the tit while we’re at it.”

            “I accept this proposition, Prongs.” Sirius shivered as a gust of cold wind blew past, causing him to shrink his limbs together as his hair flew around his head wildly, long black strands blown in all directions, letting out a long and low, “ _fuuuucccckkk_.”

            He took his hands from his pockets and adjusted his hair, ultimately putting it into a bun to keep it from being too obnoxious. James watched this (the struggle, mainly) with curiosity and confusion.

            “Are you ever going to cut it?” asked James as Sirius decided that, no, he wasn’t going to keep it up (his poor, poor neck – totally unprotected). A scoff came from the punk boy as he shook his head (partially to show ‘no’ but also to fix his hair).

            “If I do, it’ll be later— I don’t want to freeze this winter. Maybe in, er… June. Or earlier, if it’s too hot. Dunno.” With a shrug, Sirius looked over at James, long hair out of his face, falling from his scalp elegantly tangled.

            “Yea,” said James, nodding. “I get that.”

            After a second of staring off into space, James added, “huh.” Spoken in awe, it was strangely authentic. Sirius was just about to ask him to continue and clarify when James elaborated on his own. “I haven’t seen you with short hair in a while. A long while… would you go really short or still long, but not as much?”

            “Ah,” Sirius sucked in a breath. “I think I might just go to shoulders or around there, you know? Not too short, but… yeah. Then again, I _would_ like to let my neck breathe in the summer… Yeah, it’s all pretty uncertain.”

            James nodded again, yawning afterwards. This patrol – that they were nearing the end of – had proved quite useless. But, as always, it was good to check things out to be sure there wasn’t anything going on. They had ended up in a residential area, but they were the only ones out.

            “Only a block left…” mumbled James, mostly to himself, as they turned the corner onto a different street, a back street which might’ve seemed quite threatening had they not been two grown men with wands on them. On their right was a brick house, tall and quite pretty, their left nothing but an open space.

            When they reached the end of the block, they turned again. They walked along the back of the brick house, in an alleyway created by an abnormally tall fence an arm’s width away from the house. It was skinny and dark, with plants growing out from cracks in the concrete, but they enjoyed it as it was a shelter from the cold winds.

            It was at the end of the alleyway where they were supposed to turn left, into yet _another_ alley, following the fence but now with a stone building on their other side. But as James took the step out from the alley they walked down, he glanced where he was turning and immediately put his hand out to push Sirius back as he shrunk back, hiding against the fence.

            In the alley they were to meet the other Order members at the end of, were hooded figures – in familiar cloaks that caused James to freeze, but he caught a hint of metal under one of their hoods – no doubt from a Death Eater’s mask. The final thing he’d noticed that made him jump back and hide was that there were three of them – one more person than how many they were meeting.

            “ _What is it_?” Sirius mouthed, just as James mouthed—

            “ _Death Eaters._ ”

            The two of them had their wands in their hands almost instantly, pointed ahead of them, staring at each other in the darkness. Sirius swore under his breath – barely audible even to James who was a hair’s breadth away. They stared at each other and strained their ears in attempts to hear the Death Eaters, able to make out whispers and the very base of a conversation. Most words sounded jumbled, but they recognized some, Sirius more than James thanks to his canine hearing abilities.

            “—I don’t – they – here,” said a voice, low and gravely. James and Sirius inched closer to the corner until Sirius had a wisp of hair falling where the Death Eaters could’ve seen. Belly against the fence, Sirius slowly peeked out at the three enemies for only seconds, just long enough to get a good idea of where and who they were, before he pulled back into the other alley with James, stepping away from the fence, sure to keep his footsteps quiet.

            “ _There’s three of them,_ ” mouthed Sirius, recalling. “ _All looking the other way. Can’t see their masks, but one’s much shorter than the others, who are about our height…_ ”

            James nodded, watching Sirius closely to make out what his lips formed in the dim light. Thank Merlin James was good at reading lips and Sirius at mouthing (Sirius _was_ really good with his mouth), otherwise they could’ve stood there for minutes just mouthing the word “ _what_ ” at each other.

            “ _And they’re halfway down the alley, a bit closer to the other end… I don’t know what they’re doing, but they seem to just be standing there._ ” Sirius finished, looking at the alley they stood in’s ends, back where they had come from and where they were supposed to go.

            All hints of boredom had left them both, sucked out of them and replaced instantly by excitement the second James had spotted the Death Eaters. They felt another breath of wind blow by them, gentler than those they’d met when out in the open, and didn’t find themselves bothered by the cold. Instead, they were invigorated by it, like it was a wake-up call. Someone had poured cold water over them as they slept and made their eyes snap open.

            Wands in front of them, they stepped closer to the alley’s end, making eye contact every few seconds to ensure they were still on the same page. Their silent footsteps fell in time with each other’s, as if they were one man, a machine working perfectly. They were one being, one shared mind, as they walked closer and closer.

            They stopped when they reached the corner, James ahead of Sirius, and pressed their bodies against the fence again, listening for any changes in the Death Eaters’ conversation that seemed to fade in and out at random while ready to attack. Sirius’ chest was inches from James’ back as the dog got closer to the corner, so he could fight as well.

            “Maybe – false – not here – lies.” They could barely make out the hushed tones, the both of them ready. James’ grip on his wand tightened as he waited for a lull in the conversation that was to be his go-ahead.

            He counted the seconds of silence, _one… two… three... four…_

            _Five_.

            Jets of light flew from James wand as he poked his head out from behind the corner, sending spells at the Death Eaters. Their silence vanished, replaced by the noises of men suddenly under attack.

            Sirius helped, reaching out his wand and cracking it like a whip, a light attacking them he couldn’t see the effects of. A flash cut through the dark of the night, coming from the men, lighting up where the two alleys met. Sudden shouts accompanied the attacks.

            James and Sirius cast shield charms and jumped to the end of the alley, in full view of the Death Eaters, and moved as one, shoulders touching. The Death Eaters hurried to fight back, shooting lights at the two boys quickly. It took only a second for the two of them to realize the one Death Eater had gone, leaving the two to fight only two. It took another second for them to realize that the man hadn’t left, but was on the ground, unconscious. They were left with the short man and one of the two taller men.

            Lights flew from both sides, bouncing off invisible shields. It wasn’t an epic battle, but in all actuality was quite boring, but Sirius and James fought valiantly all the same. Nothing happened for a few minutes as spells shot from one group to the other, all being blocked in a sort of stalemate. The Death Eaters were gradually getting slower and slower, their reaction times lagging, but still they held up in battle. It wouldn’t take long for them to fall, though, James and Sirius knew. They could see it happening soon, the men being a millisecond too late to block, falling to the ground…

            James spotted something moving at the other end of the alleyway, something tall and… _double._ There were two people approaching, and he could only pray they weren’t Muggles and were actually the two Order members they were supposed to be meeting.

            The other end of the alley opened into a street, suburban housing at its end, with a streetlight only barely shining a faint light onto the two-people standing there. He couldn’t focus on them too long and as such couldn’t make out their faces, too busy fighting.

            The one on the right moved and their arm did something James couldn’t see for a second before a light appeared in their hands, creating a glow that lit up their face for less than a second before it was hurled at the Death Eaters. Although he didn’t get the time to make out their face, James was assured that these people were from the Order based on this action that was soon followed by the second person sending their own spell at the men.

            The men, who had been blocking James and Sirius’ attacks, were not prepared to be hit from behind. As the man on the right blocked a blue light from Sirius, the red light hit his back and he fell to the ground next to the third. The second man had no time to react, only looking at his partner below him for a second.

            In this second, James threw a spell at him just as the other person did, causing the two spells to hit the man at once, colliding on either side of him. He yelled and fell to the ground atop the other two.

            Darkness returned for a moment as there were no longer spells lighting up the alley, but soon enough, one of the two people lit up their wand’s tip, shining a light down and through the alley. Sirius mirrored them and the alley was lit up totally, so the three men piled in a heap on the ground could be seen, a mess of black cloaks.

            “Oh, it’s Peter and Alice,” said Sirius, shoulders relaxing. James squinted and nodded. He lit up the end of his own wand and the two of them walked forward into the alley, closer to the three men. On the other end, Peter and Alice progressed, with her leading, as she held the lit wand.

            They neared, only a few steps away when Sirius held out his hand to stop James and point at the man at the bottom of the pile, the first to have fainted. James didn’t notice at first, but once he shined his light upon the mess of black, he could see faint movement. The man’s arm feebly moved, subtly and weakly falling over the other two, draped across their bodies.

            It came to them too late—they realized the man was about to disapparate just as he did so. They lunged forward and shot a spell at him in the same moment the three of them disappeared in a string of black smoke that flew upwards and vanished into the night.

            “Shit,” muttered Sirius, wand lowering to his side as his shoulders fell. “Awesome.”

            “’s no use,” murmured James. Stepping forward, he nodded for Sirius to follow. “Come on.”

            “Do you know why they were here?” Alice wasted no time in trying to find out what had happened, descending upon the boys like a curious vulture. They answered with shaking their heads, both groups meeting in the middle of the alley where the men had just been.

            “Nah,” said James, even though he had already answered. “They were just hanging around when we got here.”

            “No ideas?” She crossed her arms, wand still lit, frowning. The gears turning in her head were almost visible. James remembered she was a real Auror and thus had much more training and experience and knowledge than he did. This wasn’t like an inferiority thing – he just was very aware she really knew what she was doing.

            “None. They were talking, but we couldn’t really hear them,” Sirius shifted on his feet, moving so his back was angled, almost horizontal to the fence. “Got bits and pieces, though. Might’ve been waiting for someone.”

            Alice nodded curtly, “alright.” A breath escaped her, long and tense. She glanced behind her and back at the two of them. “We didn’t find anything. You?”

            “Nothing except for these guys.” James shrugged, glancing at Peter. “You alright, mate?”

            “Huh?” Snapping to attention, Peter shoved his hands in his pockets. “Oh, er, yeah. I’m alright.”

            “Okay.” James was completely not convinced, but decided to drop it as Alice was there. When they were alone, he’d pull Peter aside and make sure he was okay. James hadn’t been hanging out with him very often, and he had to admit that he did worry about his friend.

            Clearing his throat, James pulled back his sleeve, glancing at his watch. “It’s late. Do we have anything else you need us for?”

            “I think we need someone to check out Knockturn Alley, make sure there’s nothing _too_ terrible going on there. Nothing big, just walk around outside some stores. Then done.” Alice looked James over. She read him instantly and knew exactly how he felt. “You can go home, James, I can go with Peter—”

            “No, Alice, you go home, too,” Sirius cut her off. “Go hug your baby. Peter and I’ll go.”

            “Are you sure?” Alice seemed hesitant as she looked between the two men. Sirius nodded and gave her a warm smile.

            “Yeah,” he said, “go on, we’ll be fine.”

            “Alright,” she sighed, nodding at James, “see you all later.”

            The familiar crack reverberated in the alley and she was gone. James pat Sirius on his back and nodded to Peter.

            “Good luck,” he said, then was gone, too.

            Sage wasn’t on the living room couch, he noted as he passed the room with all its lights off. It was late, so he wouldn’t’ve been surprised if she was in bed. But there was a light streaming out of the kitchen’s doorway, faint, as if she’d only bothered to turn on the one light.

            She was bathed in the light above the sink, sitting on the counter with a mug of something in her hands, held low so it rested between her bare thighs. His oversized jersey hung on her body, making her look incredibly cozy. Her gaze was focused out the window opposite the doorway, thumbs absentmindedly running over the lip of her cup. When he stepped into the doorway, her head turned to look at him, and a small and warm smile spread over her lips.

            “How was it?” she asked, moving her cup away from its spot between her thighs as he approached. He shrugged and kissed her. The clink of her cup being placed on the counter was quiet and told him her hands were free just before they moved onto him, wrapping around his neck and pulling him close.

            “Boring. Not much happened until the end,” said James. He told her about the three men as quick as he could, wanting to get the talking out of the way. The second he finished, he brought his lips to her jaw and felt her fingers, warm from holding her drink, at the back of his neck. They played with the hair at the nape of his neck and her back arched towards him.

            “You should be in bed,” he murmured, lips against her neck. He felt her gulp.

            “You know I can’t sleep when you’re out.” Her throat moved as she spoke, and James’ lips tingled with every brush against her skin. He hummed in response, causing a shiver to go down her spine. Hands on the small of her back, he pulled her closer, standing between her legs.

            Fingers tangling in his hair, Sage kept one hand on the back of his head and moved the other onto his collar, balling it up and pulling slightly. He grazed his teeth over her skin and she sucked in a breath, gasping when he bit her and pulled both his hair and collar.

            He kept working on her neck, kissing, sucking, and biting, until she gasped and pulled away suddenly. Searching her eyes, James watched her shocked face in worry. She grinned suddenly, hands loosening.

            “I just thought—Sirius is—”

            “Please tell me you weren’t just actively thinking about him—”

            “Of course not, James, come on. I just thought Sirius is Harry’s dogfather.”

            James was totally and utterly speechless and stared at her in shock. She gave him the look of a terrible jokester, the expectant, “huh? Huh? I’m funny!” He bit his lip and looked at the ceiling, making a noise that could’ve either been a laugh or a quiet sob.

            “Oh Merlin,” he said under his breath, lips pursed. He closed his eyes and brought up a hand to press his fingers into them, shoulders shaking slightly. Pulling his hand away, he looked at Sage who sat there, bright and elated.

            “I love you so much.” Words came quietly and were immediately followed by a snort as James couldn’t keep his laughter in any longer. Sage grinned, grabbing his wrists and moving his hands to the counter on either side of her, forcing him closer, kissing his nose.

            They spent almost five minutes giggling, trying to get back into the serious mood but failing (this happened often), and ultimately continued with their business with grins on their faces, occasionally breaking away to joke more. Laughter filled the kitchen, smiles lighting up the night, as they bathed in the warmth of each other.

  

            James almost felt bad for laughing as hard as he did. (Not really.)

            It didn’t help that he was already in a _really_ good, almost giddy, mood. There was a smile seemingly permanently etched onto his face, a bright aura hanging around him that had him on the verge of laughing just because he was so happy.

            Snow had fallen onto the earth through the early morning and until the afternoon, by when the world outside was covered in a snow blanket that thrilled James. He’d been staring out the window all day, wondering when the snow would finally be deep enough for him to play in it properly.

            The snowfall had slowed, leaving poofy white piles in its wake. James and Sage had gotten out the winter clothes days ago in preparation for an occasion just like this, so in order to go out all they had to do was dress quickly and leave.

            James went out early, Gryffindor scarf hanging loosely around his neck, throwing open the door while he was still putting on his coat. He closed the door, fastened up his coat, and threw himself down face-first onto the snow. The hiss and sharpness from icy cold snow hitting his bare face hurt just as much as he remembered it, but he didn’t care and rolled around in the snow and waited.

            Sage and Harry came out while James was pulling on a tree branch. He looked at them and let go, causing a cloud of snow to collapse onto him. Sage laughed, holding Harry in her arms, in his own snowsuit.

            After running over to her, James got a good look at Harry and couldn’t contain his laughter. The baby, in his snowsuit, was one of the funniest things James had seen in his whole life.

            “James, come on,” said Sage, holding back her own laughs.

            In between laughs, James breathed and managed, “he’s—so—funny, he l-looks l-like a b-blob!”

            Shaking, James looked at Harry again, only to bursting out laughing again. Harry was unbothered and smiled as James laughed at him. Sage bit her lip and shook, trying not to look at her son. He really did look funny – as did all babies in snowsuits.

            “Wh-hy do we do this to them?” asked James, still laughing. “And why is it s-so fucking funny?”

            “I dunno, James,” Sage sucked her teeth, hiding her giggles, “but I think he looks like a nice blob.”

            “Oh, yeah, he’s an adorable blob,” said James, kissing Harry’s nose and poking his tummy, causing the baby to laugh. “But he’s still a blob. Isn’t that right, Prongslet?”

            “Ah!” said Harry, nose getting red from the cold. He laughed as James began to tickle his tummy. Sage watched this and laughed herself, finally freeing the laughter she had trapped inside of herself.

            “The most adorable blob in existence,” said Sage, handing Harry to James. He took the baby with another laugh, making various nonsense noises at him.

            It was a minute later when James jumped from sudden freezing cold touching his back from Sage shoving snow down the back of his coat. He turned, gasping at her and narrowing his eyes dramatically, unable to hide his grin upon seeing how thrilled she was as she pretended as if she hadn’t done it, holding her hands behind her back and acting innocent.

            This threw them into war. War was difficult with Harry being there, but they made do. They fought their battles until Harry got too cold and they had to go in (way earlier than they would’ve). They didn’t mind, and took off their snow-covered clothes. James got Harry out of his snowsuit (he had to stop multiple times because he was laughing so hard) as Sage prepared hot drinks for the two of them and a warm blanket for Harry. She scooped him up and wrapped him in the blanket, ignoring how wiggly he was, and kissed his forehead. The three of them settled down on the couch, warm and happy, feeling unnaturally joyful and painfully jolly.


	65. Sixty-Five

           August had been finding himself rolling his eyes more often than ever - giving his fourteen-year-old self a run for his money. The comments didn’t bother him all too much - he let them bounce off the skin he had forged into iron years ago. A bitter taste hung in his mouth, caused by lingering black coffee and the words he forced to remain unsaid. All the negativity towards him left him in a sour mood, one that he would’ve gotten out of by biting back, snapping at those who distrusted him with sharp teeth and comments of his own, witty comebacks made of creative insults.

            He’d been at Order headquarters for all of three minutes, and so far, he’d been glared at more times than he could count (partially because he couldn’t be bothered to do so). Nobody was outright hostile, and the glares weren’t _terrible_ , but it was made clear to him that they thought he didn’t belong and did not trust him.

            And nobody greeted him like they did with other people. When Frank entered, he was hounded with salutations and pats on his back. When August entered, voices lowered and bodies became alert, on edge.

            It was easy to tell people didn’t like him - he watched them, acting passive-aggressive, like they were a group of mothers and August was the one who they all suspected to cheat on her husband (or, _God forbid_ , he didn’t make his own lemon squares, but bought them from a grocery store. The horror of it all).

            There had always been a kind of weariness, not yet hostile, not fully distrust, directed towards him - his house and his father and his reputation for being sneaky ensured this. When he joined the Order, he hadn’t had a blank slate. But that had just been a hesitance - people still would trust him, talk to him.

            As it turned out, the second people started thinking that maybe, _maybe_ , there was a spy, everyone thought it was him. He was the number one possibility. They weren’t wrong.

            He was extraordinarily lucky to not care what they thought of him, really. What he was doing was right and necessary for the betterment of the world. In the end, his actions would pay off and what the pricks at the Order thought of him wouldn’t matter. Things would get done. The world would move on.

            Going to headquarters wasn’t something he did often, as since Dumbledore had found something for him to do regularly, he had no need to. But going was still a good way to get information and socialize.

            Before he left that morning, he’d looked in the mirror and made sure he was ready to be in a rotten mood. Grinning at the mirror, he ran his tongue over his teeth and pulled on a warm robe made of dark fur. 1981 had shown a gentle winter, but he figured it was better to wear too many layers and take some off than to not wear enough and just suffer the whole time he was out.

            Opening and closing a window, August greeted Harold, thanked him for the dead mouse in his beak (“oh… wow… _thanks_ , buddy…”), and said goodbye before he left.

            Hours later he was in the Order’s headquarters, fur cloak held over his arm, walking through rooms and hallways trying to find someone he knew would be just as excited about him needing her as he was.

            She was harder to find than he would’ve expected her to be, but he found her, sipping on a cup of tea in the kitchen. Speaking to a friend, she was facing away from him, but he recognized the hair - sandy blonde and kept in a bob (it suited her, he had to admit, but she did look like she crawled out of the early sixties).

            Imogen Randall was nodding along to what she said when she spotted August, standing in the kitchen doorway expectantly, and stopped Nikola (the bob-headed girl) mid-sentence to point behind her at August. Nikola looked over her shoulder, brow furrowed.

            He could see the exact moment she recognized him - her curious pout, concerned brow, questioning eyes melted away. In their place, eyes narrowed, lip curled up ever-so-slightly, nose crinkled.

            “Do you need something?” she asked, sounding less like she wanted to help and more like she was willing to do the bare minimum, and only to get him to leave. Imogen watched him closely, her face neutral, but he could tell she was as suspicious as her friend.

            “Yeah, actually,” August shifted his weight between feet. “Dumbledore wants to see you in his office.”

            “Okay.” Nikola nodded, turned back to her friend to share a look with her, and spun on her heel, heading towards August. She reached the doorway, and August began to walk with her. “I’m going, you don’t have to escort me there or whatever.”

            August found it funny how hard so many of these people who disliked him tried to seem polite. As if he’d hold back in betraying them because they weren’t as much of assholes as they could’ve been (if he would’ve betrayed them, that is).

            “I do, actually,” August didn’t care how annoyed his tone was - but Nikola did, and acted as if he had suddenly told her to fuck off when she’d been nothing but kind to him. “He wants to see us both.”

            “At-- at the same time?”

            He didn’t know why this came as so much of a shock to her, but it did. You would’ve thought he’d just told her Dumbledore needed them to move in together - she seemed like she was about to protest, but couldn’t do so because she really didn’t understand and was too in shock to resist. August fought the urge to roll his eyes.

            “Yes, at the same time.” Vaguely aware of how Scottish he sounded, August tried to speak to her in the simplest terms he could manage. “He asked me to get you so he could talk to the both of us. I don’t know why, before you ask.”

            Nikola didn’t say anything as she looked him over with narrowed, shifty eyes. With clenched teeth, she nodded. August got the vibe she put off - she was very close to not going with him, full of feelings of distrust.

            They started to walk again, slower now, barely together. If looked at from an outside perspective, they were just two people walking alone, heading in the same direction by pure happenstance. This was mostly Nikola’s fault, but August did nothing to correct it.

 

            The two of them stood in Dumbledore’s office, Nikola off to the side and close to the man’s desk, arms crossed, and August right where Fawkes sat perched, petting the bird. Dumbledore had called them in, and instantly Nikola’s shoulders had relaxed, as if she was relieved to no longer be alone with August. He was sure she thought he wouldn’t do anything to her if Dumbledore was there. August didn’t bother with feeling bad for having such judgey and rude thoughts – if she didn’t like him, she didn’t fucking like him. There were so many better things to worry about.

            She was certainly more worried about this meeting than he was, though – through her happiness to see Dumbledore, August could tell she was thinking hard about what Dumbledore wanted with her and _him_. Surely, she wasn’t in trouble…

            Although he knew she was more anxious about this meeting, August, too, was curious. Why were they together? What did Dumbledore want? They had been at the end of their own meeting when the man had asked for August to retrieve Nikola, a strange request August hadn’t questioned (aloud).

            Dumbledore watched the two of them enter, eyes flickering between them as he sat at his desk, hands folded atop it. His clearing throat sounded around the room, louder as it cut through an unnatural silence. The two of them looked at Dumbledore, expectant. He sat straighter before speaking.

            “The two of you,” he said, voice stern, eyes twinkling slightly, “are both exceptionally skilled.”

            If the had said this to either of them at any other time, they would’ve thanked him. This was not then.

            “I won’t waste your time – getting right to the point, I have a mission for the both of you.”

            This seemed to shock Nikola, who almost took a step back. She made that noise of letting air out of her nose to signify a false laughter, a ‘you’re kidding, right?’ type sound. August tried to make his scowl a little less hostile.

            “I—I’m sorry, for us both?” Nikola, hand on her chest, acted the exact same way August had seen the woman who had accidentally had the same room as him booked for a night at the Leaky Cauldron. They had both booked room 7, thoroughly confusing both guests and employees alike.

            When Dumbledore nodded, Nikola made the same not-laugh-exhale noise. “You want us to work together on a mission?”

            Dumbledore nodded again. August felt himself getting more and more bitter. The coffee that hung in his mouth was blacker and burnt.

            “That is correct. Now, if I could--”

            “Sir, please, may I speak to you…” Nikola addressed the man in a hurried and hushed tone, speaking as if August was too much of a fool to understand what she was insinuating. “In private?”

            “Miss Hexagot, I’m sure--”

            “It’s fine, Sir.” August pursed his lips and took a step back. Fawkes cawed at him softly, wishing the man to return and continue scratching his head. “I can go--”

            “No, August, that will not be necessary.” Dumbledore looked over at Nikola. “Is this an urgent matter?”

            “ _Yes_!” said Nikola, stepping closer to the desk. She spoke in a hushed whisper, hissing at Dumbledore to get him to understand, but August could hear her. Crossing his arms, he sighed and looked at the phoenix a step away, as if the bird could understand his ‘ _can you believe her?_ ’ expression.

            Nikola seemed to stop caring about August leaving, and hurriedly elaborated in a tone that gave the illusion of subtlety. Her words were messy, quiet, and spoken quickly, but August made out what she said, staring at the feet of Dumbledore’s desk.

            “ _I know you trust him. I respect that - but I can’t work with him - he’s impossible to get along with, unprofessional and rude, refuses to cooperate-- I’ve heard this from multiple people-- I won’t be able to work with him, it isn’t a right fit. It could end up dangerous--_ ”

            “Miss Hexagot, please.” Firm words fell from Dumbledore’s lips and shook the room, stopping Nikola in her tracks. It surprised August that she was able to be so much of an asshole outright and to Dumbledore - seemingly, this was something uncharacteristic of _everybody_ \- but she still spoke her mind, still trying to keep a level of politeness. And August thought _he_ was rude.

            Watching Nikola get scolded was something August very much wanted (he wouldn’t lie - he was petty. So very, very petty) and he knew if Dumbledore said anything to defend August, it would be subtle and classy, a solid, smart burn. But he also knew Dumbledore was a nice person and wasn’t likely to murder her with his words.

            “I trust August Charles, but if you do not--”      

            Nikola was about to protest, surely defend herself and say she didn’t _really_ distrust him, she just thought he was someone she simply disagreed with. Stopping her, Dumbledore put up his hand.

            “If you do not,” he repeated, continuing as his hand lowered slowly, falling onto the wooden surface of his desk. “And you truly do not want to work with him, I will not force you to. But I will remind you that he is a part of this organization. You are on the same side.”

            The look Nikola shot at August - a once-over that lasted less than a second - told him that she very much did not believe they were on the same side. Bitch.

            “Is there anything you have for me, if I don’t take this mission?”

            “No. Continue with what you’ve been doing. You may go.” With a nod, she turned on her heel, making eye contact with August for a second, during which he gave her a bitter smile, and walked to leave.

            The second she was gone, Dumbledore sighed. “Well, that was useless.”

            Actually smiling (albeit softly), August looked at the man with raised eyebrows and moved to pet Fawkes again. His head, full of thoughts focused on how much he detested Nikola, moved back to where it had been set on default lately - the jittery and melancholy themes brought about by spying.

            “Is there anything else you need to discuss with _me_?” he asked, partly wishing the answer was no so he could leave and partly hoping it was yes so that he wouldn’t have to go.

            “I think we’ve gotten what we need out of the way - you know what I want from you this time, you will move again tonight…”

            August nodded. “Okay.”

            This had been his life the past months: moving around often, looking over his shoulder at every moment, making sure nobody followed him and he was still safe. What a way to live - constantly on alert, always worried about what could happen, whether it be to him or to those he loved. Constant vigilance.

            As he headed to leave, stepping on the same invisible path Nikola had just taken, August went through a mental checklist. With every step he took, he remembered a task he needed to complete before the day’s end - packing up his stuff, cleaning everything, getting rid of the charms around his current-now-past place, getting Harold together - he had a lot to do, but he could check off most of those things with a wave of his wand.

            “August.”

            Turning to answer the call of his name, a step away from leaving, he caught a glimpse of a raw version of Dumbledore before the man went back to simply being serious. Peering at August over his half-moon glasses, there was something in his eyes August couldn’t read. Concerned, he stopped in his tracks, moving his fur cloak from one arm to the other.

            “Don’t take her words to heart.”

            “I don’t.”

            The two of them shared a solemn nod and August turned to leave again. Mind whirling, he was one-step away from leaving when he called out behind him a question he was sure to think of again - not that it’d really bother him.

            “What were you going to have us do? Hexagot and I, I mean.”

            “Nothing too important, but I’m sure you assumed that. I understand your curiosity, but it really is not something you need to know, as well as being something I do not wish to tell you, now.”

            August forced himself to bite back his words - “that was cryptic, and unnecessary, but whatever” - and nodded before leaving, finally. He had a lot to do and couldn’t be fucking bothered to wonder what Dumbledore had in store for him and Nikola, just to be glad it hadn’t happened.   


            February of 1981 was wet and cold. Snow turned to slush, leaving the ground mushy and refrozen, so every step taken caused feet to sink into grass. When pulled out - using a tremendous amount of effort - the resulting sound, a _shulik_ , caused lips to curl. A hole would be left in the soft ground, quickly re-filled by the liquid dirt. Even with the occasional snow, nothing changed - it was more like horizontal sleet than flurries of snow. It wasn’t fun to be outside.

            The sky was dark almost always, a murky grey layer of clouds hanging above always. Mr. Blue Sky had gone, off vacationing somewhere with the also absent sun.

            Still, though, the night was darker. A black sky paired with a biting cold, air dry. Somehow, there always seemed to be moisture stuck to clothes, to gloves, to socks - this left fingers even colder, toes so numb it was feared to be permanent.

            Pulling on a somehow-soggy cloak (he had done absolutely _nothing_ to get it wet), Peter shivered. Standing at home, he was frozen even though he hadn’t even opened the door yet. The chill of his cloak touching his warm skin made him feel like an icicle - it was something he could only describe as being _pruney_.

            He wanted to take off his cloak, hang it back up, and go sit down under a blanket or something. He wanted to stay home and to not have the responsibilities he did. He wanted to be seven-years-old and not have to worry about anything even remotely serious.

            But, alas, he couldn’t - not if he valued his life in any way. To survive, he had to live up to his promises and vows. If he didn’t, the consequences would speak for themselves - he had seen what happens to those who don’t do as they are told.

            Keeping these thoughts in his mind, Peter left his warm home for the cold, dark, and dank world outside.

 

            Black marble, black wood, black robes - it was very clear that there was an aesthetic going on and that it was being stuck to. Deep, dark blood red walls, trimmed with the darkest brown wood the earth had to offer, melted into black marble floors - swirling with white and glistening with the light of flickering candles (white wax melted dramatically in wall-mounted silver candelabras) reflected on its surface that seemed to have been polished religiously.

            Peter supposed it most likely had been. His old grey shoes (that had once been a shining bright white) hit the marble unceremoniously, very different from how the woman who guided him walked. Heels slapped hard marble, creating clacking noises that reverberated through the room, announcing her presence before she did.

            At the end of a table - pure black, as was fitting with the theme - sat a man, in a chair more noble than the others. He was alone at the table, sitting by himself as he had been until suddenly he was standing, black robes floating around him. He made the act of standing look graceful, like a power move.

            The woman who led Peter stopped him in front of the Dark Lord, who kept a hand on the back of his chair as he eyed Peter, filling the boy with the sudden need to prove himself.

            “What news have you?” Cold and calculating, the Dark Lord’s voice pierced Peter as the man waved off the woman, leaving the two of them.

            “I-I have locations,” said Peter, hiding his shaking hands behind his back. The truth was this: he had barely anything - the locations were things he heard in passing, things he was sure wouldn’t mean much. There was not much information he knew of, not much to pass on, as he had been slacking - not really listening to plans, not seeking out new information. The fear he felt then, looking at the man who could kill him in a second, was enough to motivate him. He decided then, in an effort to save himself, he wouldn’t slack again.

            The locations weren’t much. He could tell, in Voldemort’s facial expressions, the man was not fully pleased. Looking at Peter with a tired gaze, it really seemed like he was about to cut Peter’s life short. But he didn’t, and instead sighed and spoke to Peter as if he were a child.

            “Peter, you know you aid me… you have proved yourself somewhat useful in the past…”

            _Here it comes_ , thought Peter, bracing himself for death. He found he couldn’t do so, not really. He was not ready to die.

            “But I am sure you can do _more_ … give me more information, something more to go on than a few locations…” Letting go of the chair, Voldemort stepped away and began to pace slowly. “I see… a new age, one of prosperity, where we have a stronger hold on the world… this approaches, promising to bring with it the purification of the world… the power of our regime will outlive any other.

            “Peter Pettigrew,” said Voldemort, voice chilling. He spoke Peter’s name like it was a spell to ensnare the mousy boy’s attention. “I believe _you_ can help me in achieving this – if you bring me more information, everything you can possibly find out, you will be rewarded.”

            Peter nodded. Voldemort smiled, a charming smile, with bright white teeth shining at him. Something about the way he bared his teeth to Peter was a reminder – Lord Voldemort did not let Peter forget what could happen to him if he failed to deliver.

            Those shiny teeth would clamp down on him – he would be crushed in the power of their jaw, bones ground to dust. They would consume him, _end_ him. And then they’d go back to smiling, licking the blood off the shiny white of the enamel, the only remnant of Peter something miniscule: some hair, a drop of blood, a finger.


	66. Sixty-Six

            The hustle and bustle around her was loud, but she could hear each step she took. Dark brown kitten heels hit the dark wood floor – _clack, clack, clack_ – a rhythm she created, a drum beat testifying her determination. A black skirt swished around her legs, reaching past her knees, professional and stylish. Her overcoat, something of a robe, was a dark tan, open at the front, showing her white shirt and revealing the sunflowers embroidered on the top layer of black. The tan reached below the skirt, ending with enough room for her umber brown legs to show.

            In her dry and faded hands, she carried a briefcase, holding it close to herself as if she was worried it would be stolen. She ignored the people bustling around her, shrugging off their looks and paying it no mind when she bumped their shoulders as she passed. She had somewhere to be, goddamn it, and she was going to fucking get there.

            Wendy’s long legs took strides down the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium, moving her through the crowd of people, many of whom were on their way to work for the morning. A woman ran past, holding onto her hat (deep, dark blue and pointed – a real witch’s hat) and muttering something under her breath, spare hand grasping onto a handful of papers. Her fingers wrinkled the parchment as she held tight, but she seemed unbothered.

            After coming to these types of places so many times, Wendy had learned to let the looks people gave her slide off her. She knew that many of these people would take one look at her and think she did not belong there (whether they thought this outright or have thoughts more like ‘ _that… person must be lost_ ’). They saw the colour of her skin – a dark, dark brown, only a few shades lighter than the night sky – and the features she wished to rid herself of – the strong chin, the protruding nose – that made them stop to think of why she looked so strange, not quite right. Beautiful, sure, but not quite right.

            Black and Transgender, Wendy was not someone they would think to be in the Ministry. But she continued on – she had someplace to be, and she did not know these people who judged her (and, as long as it stuck to just looks and the occasional comment, she would be okay. If it was more, even just a little, she’d probably end up crying in a bathroom stall for a minute before she got right back out there).

            Sometimes, though, she would worry. There was only so much she could take, no matter how much thicker her skin had gotten, before she was affected. There were certain people who gave certain looks she knew the intent behind – they were looks of hatred. Pure, utter hatred. An emotion so strong she worried they would use violence to cope. They certainly conveyed the want to do so, even with just their eyes.

            Wendy almost fell to the ground when she collided with a man just as she reached the fountain. Utterly bewildered, the two of them blinked multiple times and instinctually offered up apologies before they had even realized what exactly had happened.

            When she realized that she had indeed collided with a man, Wendy hurried to take a step back. The briefcase she’d been holding like a baby had snapped open, the papers inside fallen onto the floor.

            “So sorry,” said the man, pulling out his wand from his somewhat ratty robes just as Wendy gave hers a wave. This sent all the papers back into the briefcase and closed it with a soft snap, inaudible over the hustle and bustle around them.

            “It’s no problem, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Wendy gave her best ‘I won’t hurt you’ smile. The two of them put their wands away and she got a good look at him just as he insisted:

            “No, no, really, it’s my fault, I apologize.” He was quite pale, rather tall and lanky, with bright red hair. The smile he gave Wendy seemed authentic, albeit a little uncomfortable – they _had_ met under rather unideal circumstances.

            “It’s really quite alright,” he said, giving her a once-over as well. His smile didn’t falter, even when it stuck on her chin (surely noticing how broad it was - and what if he could see the hair Wendy could? Even though Sage had told her thousands of times there was nothing there, Wendy still saw the facial hair she’d taken a potion to do away with forever. She really wished people would notice other things, like how the sunflowers on her skirt had petals threaded with three different colours, all yellows, turning gold and shining in the light).

            Smiling back at him, Wendy was about to speak again, tell him another apology before excusing herself, when she felt something hit her shoulder, hard. She stumbled back, kitten heel hitting the ground in a step backwards, bracing her and saving her from a fall. It was not an accident, she could tell - someone, one of the passer-by, had very much meant to hit her.

            But she recovered, foot going back to its place near its match, her spare hand brushing off her clothes as if she’d gotten something on her, once, twice, three times, before her hands fell to her sides and her back straightened. The illusion of strength.

            The red-headed man met her eyes as she cleared her throat and looked back at him, his expression changed. It was subtle, a small change, but she saw it. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth positioned in a way that she assumed meant he was about to run his tongue over his teeth. Wendy could feel her heart pounding in her chest, a thudding push and pull she could almost hear, even with all the noise around them.

            “You know what,” he began, still smiling, “why don’t I buy you lunch - as an apology?”

            This was not what Wendy had been expecting - not at all. An incredibly kind gesture from a stranger, someone who, by all accounts, _she_ bumped into.

            “Oh!” Wendy, taken aback, placed her hand on her chest. “What a kind offer! I’m sorry, but I have to decline - I don’t think I quite have the time - I have to get going.”

            “That’s alright. What do you do? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here.”

            Her mind froze and she lost most actual thought, falling into a string of ‘ _what’_ , as she tried to come up with an answer. What _did_ she do? She worked _for_ the Order, but at a certain point, the effort she put into working _with_ the Ministry changed… Pushing the thoughts of becoming a politician (and how it didn’t sound all too terrible) away, she tried to form the right words.

            “Oh, I don’t work for the Ministry, not officially - I’m here to speak with Barty Crouch, on behalf of Albus Dumbledore.” Wendy prayed this made sense, but she knew this wasn’t really the _best_ explanation of what she did, only the best she could come up with. “What do you do? I assume _you_ work here, am I correct?”

            “Oh, yes.” The red-headed man nodded, although he wanted to ask her to elaborate on how she was representing Dumbledore. “I work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Offices.”

            “Oh,” said Wendy, suddenly interested but still about to part ways, “I’ve seen those offices - I never thought about things like that. I’m Muggle-born, but I guess there is a risk of using Muggle stuff improperly.”

            It seemed like Wendy had just made this man’s day – his face lit up, eyes shining. He stood taller, looking at her in awe, like a child, totally perplexed and amazed.

            “Really?” he said (exactly like how an old-timey street rascal – an Oliver Twist-esque kid might ask, wide eyed, “can I _really_ have that chocolate bar, Mister?! Oh boy!”). “You’re Muggle-Born?”

            When Wendy nodded, his grin got even wider.

            “Can you tell me – what exactly is a _‘stapler’_? How does it… do that thing it does?” Wendy recognized his look finally; she saw his pure curiosity, almost like a scientist’s.

            “Staple?”

            “Exactly! How on Earth does it… _staple_?”

            He spoke with such an excitement that Wendy couldn’t help but laugh, grinning and feeling warm, “I don’t exactly know, but I know that the staples, you know, the little metal things, are pushed by some kind of—oh _no_ , is that the time?”

            A glance at one of the massive clocks on the towering walls of the Ministry’s Atrium revealed to Wendy that this was very much not the time to be having a conversation like this. She needed to be on the second floor, not talking to a nice man and attempting to explain staplers. She, for all intents and purposes, did _not_ know how staplers worked, and could tell her explanation of them would only get worse as she kept it up.

            “I’m sorry, but I really must be going—” sending him an apologetic look, Wendy took a step away from him, about to go back to walking, a part of the hustle and bustle around her.

            “Oh, well…” The man seemed disappointed, but smiled either way. “Good luck, have a good afternoon!”

            “You as well, thank you. It was lovely speaking with you!”

            “Thank you!”

            This was all spoken quickly as they parted ways. She headed towards the lifts and he moved towards the fireplaces lining the ‘out’ side of the wall. He was going to leave via the Floo Network, presumably going home early (Wendy was sure his work day didn’t end at half-past noon – and because he was willing to eat lunch with her, he wasn’t in a rush. He was probably going home).

            Wendy hurried to the lifts, stepping between people, her kitten heels hitting the floor in clunks, different from the clacks they’d made when she walked slow and with determination. Now wasn’t the time to be all Dominatrix-ey. She had someplace to be, someone to see, some politics to discuss.

            A witch in long brown robes brushed shoulders with Wendy as they both hurried onto different elevators, her onto a busy one with two other witches in similarly coloured robes who greeted her, Wendy onto a lift with only three other people. One of these people she knew – a witch in dark navy, very professional robes who worked on level one of the Ministry, as a part of the Minister’s staff. She was apparently close to the current Minister, Millicent Bagnold (who was new to the position, taking office only a year before).

            Wendy walked into the lift, kitten heels hitting wood for a few steps until they found the metal of the box. She said, “two, please,” and moved against the back wall, close to the woman she knew who stood inches from the right wall. Paper planes entered the elevator, floating at the top and hanging in the air. It took some effort for her to not stare – she really could still be totally amazed by magic, even after living with it for so long.

            “Hello,” said Wendy to the woman she knew who looked up from the floor she’d been staring at in concentration. Wendy assumed that she had been thinking, and that she hadn’t just found the metal slab under their feet fascinating.

            “Well,” gasped the woman, breaking out a smile, “if it isn’t Wendy Greene.”

            The woman, who served the Ministry under the official title of ‘Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic,’ was very nice, as Wendy had delightfully found out many months ago. Her name was Loretta Paley and she was a nice pale-skinned blonde-haired woman, short and plump, multiple years older than Wendy. She was young, still, and very wise (she had been in Ravenclaw in the 1960s). Pink square-framed glasses took up a majority of her small, heart-shaped face, allowing her baby-blue eyes to see.

            When she had met Wendy, she’d given the girl the usual grimace-smile she got from people who _said_ they were okay with ‘ _people like her_ ’ but were still the kind of people who would say something like that – “ _people like… her._ ” Loretta had since proven herself as much more than just trying to seem accepting, going out of her comfort zone to talk to Wendy and make an effort to take her under her wing. Still, she wasn’t the most… _understanding_ of how to be an ally, but Wendy appreciated it all the same. Even when she noticed the patronizing looks and the strained smiles, she appreciated it (plus, it wasn’t like everywhere she went she would find someone who totally understood what it was like to be a minority – and it was even less likely that this person would be a straight, white, cisgender woman).

            Smiling, Wendy angled her face to the ground, a meek act, making sure to not get too close to Loretta (who, upon her first meeting, she had noticed shed dog hairs on her robes – only after she’d gotten close enough to sneeze a few times – Wendy was allergic to dogs). “Oh, I’m nothing important— but I am glad to see you! How are the kids?”

            Loretta lit up. If there was one thing she loved more than proving how open-minded she was, it was talking about her children. She had mentioned them when she first met Wendy (in an effort to get a conversation going), twin boys, 5-years-old, and a 3-year-old girl.

            “Oh, you just _have_ to hear about this thing Havana did yesterday! It was absolutely _darling_!” Wendy smiled, silently cursing herself as Loretta went on, talking to Wendy about her children as the lift stopped on the third floor and picked up two wizards (both scarily old - they looked like they were born in the 1700s).

            The doors closed and Loretta was still talking, in the beginnings of her story about “little Paul and his owl friend” as the lift moved, nearing the floor Wendy was to be getting off at. Panic overtook her, building as the lift got closer and closer, slowing until it came to a stop.

            “Oh, Loretta, I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to go—I’m glad to hear the kids are well – I wish you and them the best, but I must be going—” Wiggling out of the conversation in a way that could not be taken as rude in any way was difficult, but Wendy thought she did a good job. Loretta frowned, but still waved goodbye to Wendy sweetly.

            The lift’s doors rattled closed as Wendy stepped into a corridor full of doors. Behind her, she heard it clatter and move, shaking upwards. A wizard had gotten off with her, holding a bundle of rolled-up parchment in his arms and grumbling to himself as he moved quickly, disappearing behind one of the doors Wendy had never gone through (though, to be fair, she hadn’t really explored very much).

            Wendy took in a breath, held it, and let it out, straightening her back and gripping onto her briefcase tighter, holding it at her side, flattening her skirt with her spare hand to seem as professional as possible.

            It wasn’t five minutes later when Wendy stood in Barty Crouch’s office, shaking his hand curtly. He was a serious and professional man, a rule-follower, someone who would abandon emotion in search of justice. He was ruthless, merciless, and cold. Wendy didn’t like having to work with him, but here she was.

            Their conversation didn’t have a slow start – Wendy didn’t want it to. She placed her briefcase down and began to talk about what she needed to, adopting a whole different persona to do so.

            “Mister Crouch, this month, the death toll has risen immensely. We aren’t hearing of new attacks every week or two, it’s turned every day, nearly. Something’s happened, something big, that made the Death Eaters do more.

            “Now, there’s no doubt that the civilian casualties are an issue, but it’s also become an issue with the number of deaths of members of the Order of the Phoenix. Over the span of February, we’ve had a multitude of attacks, with Death Eaters around every corner.”

            Wendy let out a breath, laying her hands on Barty’s desk and leaning in, speaking in a low voice. “The war is getting worse, Mister Crouch, and I fear that we are nowhere near the end.”

            “What do you want from me, Ms. Greene? More Aurors? I’m stretched to my limits as it is – not to mention that if you are correct, and things will only get worse, sending the few Aurors I have right now will be a death wish for all of them.” He rubbed at his eyes in exasperation before scowling at Wendy. “But we do need to fight – get these bastards off the streets and into Azkaban where they belong by whatever means necessary. What does Dumbledore say?”

            She bit back a cringe. Barty Crouch’s ‘whatever means necessary’ was not a surprise, but she still did not like it. Barty took the position of ‘let Aurors torture and kill Death Eaters’ which both Wendy and Dumbledore disagreed with. Actually, Dumbledore was quite sceptical of Crouch in all, though through his distaste he did trust the man. “He agrees that the war is getting worse and will only continue to do so, and that we need to crack down on this, but he still takes the position you do not, disagreeing with your wish to use Unforgivable Curses on Death Eaters. We haven’t come to that, not yet.”

            Wendy continued on for a while, citing sources and theories, and came up with possible solutions until their meeting ended. Barty, always the professional, gave Wendy a firm handshake before gesturing her out of his office. She left, of course, and although she’d only been with him for less than an hour, she was exhausted.

            Making her way back to the lift, Wendy felt much less determined and motivated and more like she was ready to take a nice, long nap. She was no longer strutting down corridors and looking like she was about to go to court and argue her client’s case with a sharp tongue and confident cadence. No, while she left, she was looking like a tired, middle-aged mother who finally got away from her kids to get to work (late) and was now leaving a long day at the office to go home to seven energetic monsters (whom she loved but did want to strangle occasionally).

 

            Apparating was amazing. Wendy was really very glad she knew how to do it, and even more so that it was able to transport her right by her bed. Taking off her shoes in a tired motion and throwing (gently) her briefcase onto the floor was immediately followed by her collapsing face-first onto her bed, still messy from that morning.

            She took off her coat, tossed it over with her briefcase, and closed her eyes.

            But she couldn’t sleep. As much as she wanted to be, she just wasn’t tired enough to be able to sleep in the middle of the day. So, she groaned, rolled onto her back, and sat up, getting out of bed. With her tongue between her teeth, she picked up her briefcase and coat and walked away from her bed.

            Being in a flat alone didn’t bother her, a lot of the time. It meant she could drip dry without fear, dance strangely, and not have to deal with a roommate who refused to do the dishes. It made lazy afternoons all that much lazier, without having to work to talk to people.

            It did bother her, though, when it was late at night and she couldn’t sleep. When thunderstorms had darkened the sky at half-past-noon, when she thought of something funny and had nobody to say it to, when she was overcome with emotion and just wanted to cry for a little bit.

            But, as always, she got through it. She found ways to deal with things and figured out how to take care of herself while still letting others help her.

            Overall, Wendy was happy. The war didn’t help, but she was doing something she really enjoyed, working hard and making a difference, keeping herself busy. When she was at home, alone, she could wind down and not worry about the danger she was in and just have a nice cup of tea.

            The darkness of the world was downsized when she could just look out a window at the real world, the physical one, where plants still grew, animals still lived, wind still blew – the Earth still turned. She found, living alone, that this made her happy. All hell broke loose, but the world still turned.

 

            “Sage?” James’ voice called down the stairs, still hoarse and weak as he had only just woken from a nap. When he heard no response, he yawned and asked, this time humorously, “Harry?”

            But, still, there was no sounds from downstairs. Sage wouldn’t’ve left without telling him, so she must’ve just not heard him. His body followed after his head that had been poking into the stairway. He rubbed his eyes and headed down the stairs, peeking into rooms trying to find Sage.

            “Ah, there you are,” said James as he walked into the living room, where Sage was sat on the couch with a book in her hands. “...where’s Harry?”

            Without looking up from her book ( _Holographic Love: A Futuresque Love Story_. It was terrible), Sage responded, “with Sirius.”

            “Oh. Wait, what? How did…” Thoroughly confused, James tried to figure out how Sirius would’ve left with Harry, who was a small small child - therefore still unable to be apparated with. They didn’t have their house connected to the Floo Network, and the only vehicle Sirius had was his motorcycle. And Sage wouldn’t’ve left without telling him, so she couldn’t’ve dropped him off…

            “Where are they and how did they get there?”

            “He said he wanted to take him on ‘an adventure’ but I think he just wants to use Harry to attract people, but I’m okay with that because he said he’d bring back cannolis.” Putting her book on her lap, Sage stretched her arms behind her, avoiding hitting the couch.

            “How did they get there?”

            All Sage said was one word, but it caused James to panic. “Motorcycle.”

            Biting back screams, James moved closer to her in a flash, “WHAT?!”

            “What’re you so-- _oh_ , James.” She snorted, patting his shoulder. “He got a sidecar - it’s adorable, by the way - for Harry, he’s safe.”

            The wave of relief that swept over James was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, causing his whole body to untense from the ball it’d raveled itself into. His head hung low and a sigh came from him, relief overtaking him.

            “You should’ve seen it, actually - it was like 5 minutes after you went upstairs, he showed up, there was a little-- oh, is that them?”

            Sure enough, there was a motorcycle pulling up to their home, visible through the living room window as it slowed and parked just outside. James stood tall suddenly, rushing to get a jacket and go make sure his son was okay.

            He threw the front door open and didn’t bother to close it, running outside as Sirius unbuckled his helmet and Sage put on a jacket of her own.

            “James, hey!” said Sirius, shaking his head to let his hair sort itself out, running a hand through it, certainly seeming incredibly attractive - James didn’t notice. He was too busy looking at the sidecar, where his son lay, asleep.

            Harry, eight-months-old to the day, was passed out cold, strapped into the sidecar snugly. But, most notably, he was wearing something different from what he had been when James had said goodbye for a nap. Tiny goggles and a tiny leather jacket.

            James almost cried - it was the cutest goddamn thing he’d ever seen in his life. Snoozing, Harry didn’t notice the straps on him being undone and being picked up, held in James’ arms.

            A hand rest on his shoulder, causing him to look behind him at Sage, who was staring down at Harry with a warm smile. “Cute, right?”

            “Are you fucking kidding me? This is the most adorable thing ever - no contest.” Careful not to wake the baby, James turned so he was facing his wife, Harry between them.

            “Are you sure?” Sage smirked, “because earlier, him trying to eat your nose was the cutest thing ever.”

            “... _okay_ , so maybe there’s a _little_ contest, but _really_ , that’s irrelevant, so fuck you for bringing it up.” James, eyes narrowed at Sage, adjusted how he held Harry - he’d forgotten he wasn’t such a teeny tiny baby anymore, that he’d gotten bigger. He was a whole eight months bigger than he’d been the first time James had picked him up.

            “Anyway, I hope you’re okay with your son being a scoundrel, because he is one - you’re welcome.”

            “Sirius, you’re a horrible influence on our son.”

            Sirius grinned, pearly whites on full display as he held his helmet under his arm, “I know.”


	67. Sixty-Seven

            The news came in April, a shock and an outrage to Wendy Greene among others. Barty Crouch had issued an edict in response to the worsening war (it really was reaching new heights of terror, the horrors of the Death Eaters increasing as they got more confident. They had begun their attacks years ago with only terrorizing Muggles, but were now torturing and murdering anyone who opposed them).

            Aurors, he said - referring to those who worked for the Ministry, not those in the Order of the Phoenix, as the Order was still seen by most of the Ministry as a renegade organization, save the few employees whose views differed (Barty being one of them, as he could appreciate their attacks with his aggressive stance) - would henceforth be allowed to use the three Unforgivable Curses on those they suspected to be Death Eaters.

            This included, as it was, the ability to use the Killing Curse, something that could indeed come in handy, the Imperius Curse, which would allow Aurors to mind-control suspects into doing their bidding - something that has the possibility of being useful but also holds the potential to shift into ‘unjust’ territory. And last but most controversial, was the free use of the Cruciatus Curse - the torture curse. Many agreed the use of this curse was unnecessary, immoral, and needlessly cruel.

            One of these people was Wendy Greene - member of the Order of the Phoenix most involved in the politics of the organization. She was involved with the Ministry, though she was viewed by many as a member of a rebel organization, and liked by a fair few there. Wendy was well aware of the ‘kill first, ask later’ policy Bart Crouch adopted, and she was horrified by the sheer concept of this. She tried, very desperately, to compromise with him and change his views.

            And just when she thought that perhaps - maybe even a little - she had began to do so and he was truly thinking less… _barbarically_ , he made the announcement. Aurors could use Unforgivable Curses without reprimand (as long as they were cast on suspected Death Eaters).  

            The hope was that this would allow for the easier entrapment of Death Eaters, allowing the Ministry to capture, question, and imprison them. This was supposed to help in finding the true identities of the Death Eaters and get more and more of them off the streets.

            Wendy, as she argued very passionately, was against this. The minute she heard, her mind reeled and formed arguments rapid-fire. They came so quickly that she couldn’t tell the difference between them all in her head - she had to speak them aloud to give them more order, to let them become fully-realized opinions.

            Luckily for the appearance of sanity, she was not talking to herself - she ranted, pacing in the Potter’s living room, to her best friend. Sage sat on the couch and listened, head moving back and forth to keep her attention on Wendy as if she were watching a tennis match. She kept quiet, nodding occasionally and letting her friend talk, overwhelmed with the fast pace but aware of what was being said.

            “I get the Killing Curse thing, yeah - as much as I don’t want it to be, killing is necessary on occasion - but the other two? I can see the Imperius Curse argument, _barely_ , but the Cruciatus Curse is in every way unnecessary. In what world is torture okay?”

            Wendy turned around sharply, took three long and hurried steps, and repeated.

            “And every time I try to argue against the mistreatment of prisoners, people ask ‘so what? They deserve it - you don’t care about them, do you?’” Looking at Sage, Wendy groaned, “can you believe that?!

            “I had someone suggest I wanted them to win the war! Just because I’m not okay with torturing someone doesn’t mean I _like_ them! I’m one of their main targets and have been since the beginning! Now they’re going to Blood-Traitors and such, but they’ve hated me from the start - why would I want them to succeed?! I hate them all! I just have _morals_!

            “But no, everyone thinks we can treat them terribly because of their crimes! This is just like Azkaban - oh, don’t even get me _started_ on how the treatment of prisoners there is truly shameful and enough to make anyone discredit the Ministry - just because someone is a _criminal_ doesn’t make it okay to commit crimes against them! Especially not of this degree! God, it’s like none of you have even _heard_ of the third Geneva Convention! I mean, the Ministry isn’t the government of a country itself, but they have to have _some_ limits - I know they can’t officially declare war, other than the Minister making a speech or something - but come _on_ , do you all just ignore all things Muggles do to the point where you have no care for their laws? Do you all think of the Queen as your queen? UGH.”

            Taking a swig from the water Sage had just handed her, Wendy took in a breath before beginning again.

            “But back to my earlier point - allowing murder is one thing, but _torture_? The Imperius curse and the Cruciatus curse are _totally unnecessary_ , not to mention _immoral_ \- we _have_ to have something to set us apart from them! We can’t mirror their cruelty, in any way - our main goal has to be _bringing them in and imprisoning them_ , not killing - we get no information from killing - not to _mention_ not all Aurors are noble people; some of them won’t judge the situation correctly and can kill preemptively - and we won’t know which people can be trusted and which can’t until it's too late. And what if we end up killing someone who You-Know-Who _wants_ us to - someone he’d rather have dead than in our custody, because they know everything and would tell us it if we really tried to get information from them?

            “Or someone he’s put under the Imperius curse? It’s not like we know who these people are - we should focus on _that_ more, finding out their true identities and going after them legally - they shouldn’t have jobs, shouldn’t be allowed to have children, shouldn’t be allowed to _be free_.

            “And his thing of ‘suspected Death Eaters’ is SHIT because of that - all of them could be under the Imperius Curse themselves. We know none of their identities because of those masks, so there’s no way of knowing who is and who isn’t really cursed.

            “Killing them before bringing them in won’t help us - interrogation can aid us in learning more identities - and _sure_ , the use of the curses could be helpful in bringing them in - but to what means?”

            “Do you want to sit down?” asked Sage, hurrying to speak while Wendy took a breath. The girl was in full-rant mode, hands shaking, teeth grinding.

            “No,” she said firmly, sitting down.

            Wendy said nothing for a few seconds, only breathing heavy, causing Sage to ask, “are you done?”

            “Not really, but I’m tired, and I’m about to start repeating myself a lot and just get madder, so I should chill for a little before I start going again.” She began to relax, forcing herself to calm down and take deep breaths, shaking her hands out once as if the energy taking over her would leave through her fingers.

            “Alright, I can understand that.” Sage shrugged, tightening her ponytail. “Are you going to anyone with this? All of your arguments - there’s got to be someone to tell, someone who will listen and do something about it.”

            “Dumbledore, maybe. But he’s already got his own views - I’m not going to introduce him to new ideas or anything - he’s a genius, he’ll have thought of it all already. I’ll have to figure out who to yell at - I am pretty involved with the Ministry, nowadays, so I can socialize and stuff…”

            Suddenly curious, Sage leaned in, brows furrowed, “are you going to try to get a position there? Like, working for the actual Ministry as well as being a part of the Order.”

            A long and tense breath escaped Wendy. She leaned back, unsure of the answer herself.

            “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “I mean, I probably should, and it’s most likely going to happen, the way I’ve been going, but it wasn’t the end goal… I’m not _against_ it, but… I dunno.”

            “Alright - I mean, if you get an opportunity, take it, but if not, don’t go seeking one out, as you aren’t sure what you really want.” Sage fell back, twiddling her thumbs together. “Personally, I think you’d be great at that all - you’d fight for the little guy, you know? Be fair, just - a Hufflepuff. Do what’s right because it’s what’s right and you can’t sit by and let things happen that shouldn’t be. Who knows - maybe you’ll become Minister or something--”

            Wendy couldn’t help the barrage of laughs that erupted from her - warm and full belly-laughs, accompanied by the occasional snort. This was real laughter, pure laughter, something she hadn’t done in a while. When she opened her eyes, she inhaled in a manner not unlike a laugh itself, and her brown eyes met Sage’s green.

            “Oh, hold on-- you’re _serious_?”

            “No, I’m Sage, but I’m not kidding - I wouldn’t be surprised to see you a Ministry official. Maybe even on Wizengamot.”

            “I don’t know _how_ you’d imagine that, but you should know better,” Wendy smiled, rolling her eyes at Sage, chuckling once more, “they wouldn’t let someone like me do either of those things - Wizengamot, maybe in a century, I could wiggle my way in, but that’s a _strong_ ‘if,’ and there’s no _way_ I could be Minister - no matter how determined I am, don’t give me that look - it just won’t happen. At least, not in my lifetime.”

            “Okay, I see your point, but--”

            “If you’re about to tell me it’s possible, in any way, I’m going to need you to not. It’s a simple fact of life, Sage, that I’m not most people’s favourite person. I get you don’t see that, because you don’t know what it’s like to be a Muggle-Born Trans woman of colour; it may be better than it could be, by far, but it's still not good. I won’t change deep prejudice by being nice and staying determined. If I wanted to do that, I’d have to get dirty.

            “Things didn’t change for the Queer community because they were kind. Things changed because they rioted. Things didn't change for Black people because they were passive. Things changed because they protested. Do you see what I mean? And these protests aren’t good - they are done out of need - because we were being murdered. Protesting can make it so I make myself more of a target. My name would be out there, I’d be labeled a thug. People would attack me.

            “I’d be forcing too much social change all by myself. I want it to happen, but it won’t - it’s not likely. If I want to do things in the Ministry, I have to shoot low, keep my head down to be _safe_. If I make one wrong move, one bad call, I’m out. Name disgraced at the least. It won’t be easy, Sage. I don’t want to have to be the ‘first’ anything. I don't want to break barriers. I just want to fucking live, and I’m not the kind of person who can be content with a life of fighting for my right to be somewhere to the degree I’d have to if I were Minister or on Wizengamot.”

            Wendy wasn’t quite sure if the look Sage gave her was because the other girl couldn’t relate or because she wasn’t making any sense. She decided it was most likely a mix of both, so she sighed and looked away from Sage who obviously did not know what to say.

            “It’s all a risk,” said Wendy, slowly, inhaling deeply. “And I don’t know what I’m doing yet. I’m only twenty, I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I feel like I should, though - you’re twenty-one and you’ve got it all sorted--” Sage opened her mouth to protest, but Wendy cut her off before she could even begin. “More than I do at least! I mean, you’ve got a husband and a kid - all settled down and happy-- I mean, you’ve got a lovely life right now, Sage, all things considered. Your future’s uncertain, but so is everyone else’s. At least, if you have a bad ending, you had a happy beginning. And a happy middle. I don’t even _know_.”

            “How did we get from talking about Barty’s dumb proclamation to talking about how my story can end horribly?”

            “Sage… I don’t know. I’m very tired - I woke up at, like, 5 this morning, and any and all magic and Muggle vices I’ve used to aid me in being less sleepy have failed wholly, so… I’m in a ‘ranty’ sleepy mood, you know? The tired that gets me mad and talkative.”

            Sage nodded wisely, as an idea came to her: “do you want to nap?”

            “Holy shit, yeah, I want to nap!” Shooting up from her spot on one of the armchairs, Wendy joined Sage on the couch. “We haven’t had a good friendship naptime in a while! I’ve missed sharing a dorm with you - now we have to have sleepovers and stuff, but we haven’t done that in a while.”

            “We really haven’t… with you working and me having a kid now, we’re too busy… we should do it more, though--” A blanket was grabbed from the basket next to the couch, Sage laying it over the two of them with a smile. “Find the time, you know?”

            “Yeah, totally,” said Wendy, yawning - she was already falling asleep, with the warm blanket covering her, protecting her from the cold of the room. A cocoon of heat warmed her skin but reached deeper - into where it warmed her very soul. Drifting off was a haze, something like slipping on ice, sudden, but like slipping, she was aware she was doing so. Unlike slipping, though, she didn’t mind - she fell asleep and didn’t put out a hand to save herself.

  
            Of the thirteen people at the table, August knew two. Every one of them, save the man at the table’s end - the head of the table and leader of them all - wore masks made of silver decorated with engravings and black markings. Swirls and sharp lines, all of the masks had something about them that made them unsettling, something that took them from being something to hide identities to what they were - instruments of terror.

            Along with the silver of the masks, they wore black robes with pointed hoods, elegant and ominous. They were supposed to move like the darkness, and in almost every way, they did. What they did not do, not yet, was act like the dark of night, ridding the world of its main light for as long as they lingered.

            The organization of the Death Eaters heavily relied on anonymity. It was rare for people to know who the other people they fought with were, as many of them didn’t want to be outed in any way. They counted on the hoods and masks to keep them out of the public eye. Some of them had nice, cushy jobs - jobs that would vanish if they were found out.

            That being said, August knew there were some people who couldn’t care less - in fact, a few among their numbers who _wanted_ to be known. They _loved_ being known as extremists, and found all the attention nice. The only problem for them, really, was the trouble with them being inducted into Azkaban.

            Even among the rest of the Death Eaters, they kept anonymous. There were threats - what if there was a spy? What if whoever they told the truth was caught by the Ministry or Order and questioned, giving up names? These were both valid concerns, and did occur enough to stir up worry.

            A throat was cleared, unnecessary, as all eyes were already on the man asking for their attention - the head of the group, one of the men August knew the identity of. He was one of those who did not care if people knew who they were - in fact, he _wanted_ his name to spread. He both loved and hated how people were too frightened to say his name. August sat at his left hand’s side.

            “This meeting is unorthodox,” he said, voice cutting through the already silent air. Nobody dared make a single noise - the man beside August who had a heavy breathing pattern held his breath. “Yet… here we are.”

            With a serious but dramatic gesture to them all, he continued, “my closest… my confidants, my spies, my best… those of my followers I trust the most…”

            August’s eyes flashed to those he could see across from him without moving his head - he knew none of these people. The second person at the table he knew was himself. Most likely, under the masks, he knew them or at least _of_ them - but the masks erased all identity. He was blind.

            “Now, I am sure you have heard of the prophecy… that which tells me my true rival is an infant… an infant with the power to destroy _me_.”

            He said it in a manner that made the people at the table laugh. Fearfully, they did so, with chuckles sounding like cracks of a whip. This pleased the only man whose opinion mattered to them, and a smile appeared on his face.

            “They say an infant - a _child_ \- will be the thing to cause my downfall.”

            Another laugh.

            “He may have the power.” Voldemort’s smile fell, “but I have the will... he will fail.”

            This was, of course, in reference to two boys - one of them would be Voldemort’s biggest threat. One of them was also August’s nephew.

            A hand came onto August’s shoulder - an attempted comfort from a man who did not know the meaning of the word. It slinked away after a few seconds, the action unsettling in every aspect.

            “He might have the potential, but if he is done with before he has the chance to realize it... well, I will have no competition. We will rise... this child will be nothing but forgotten. None will remember him... he will die at my hand before he has even come of age - before he has even stepped foot into the halls of Hogwarts...”

            August made a noise of agreement along with the others, glad for the mask that hid him from those around him. This war was Hell. He feared he may throw up the food he’d just eaten - all hints of which were gone. The table was cleared and so clean it was surprising that only minutes ago a meal had been shared upon it (eating through masks was hard, but charms fixed this so food could go through silver).

            “But, as we imagine the good times to come... we must think of the now...” Voldemort let his eyes rake over each of them slowly and bitterly. “We must think, keeping it in our minds that those who do not share our loyalties shall not reap our rewards... Those against us must be punished... those who hide their faces and speak lies...”

            The Dark Lord’s voice faded out, leaving the room in eerie silence, thick and nauseating. Hearts beat heavily, every one of their minds full of worry. None of their eyes left Voldemort. Every one of them recognized the look he held in his gaze. They’d seen it before - the anger... he was going to do something... they all knew one of them would not walk away from this table. One of them was to be killed, murdered. None of them knew who it was, and each feared it would be them.

            “There is one among us who is not loyal to me.”

            August’s heart beat so loudly he feared he wouldn’t be able to hear what else was said. A glance to the man in front of him told him nothing - he was sure everyone else was this frightened, but the masks hid this. The only sign he got was from the man beside him, whose hand trembled.

            “One of you dares to sit here, to dine with me, to act as if you have not betrayed my trust... you know who you are.” Voldemort gave them all a look again, slow and calculating. Each person he looked at feared he would stop, point at them, and not hesitate. He didn’t stop, though, and scanned through them all without giving a sign as to who the traitor was.

            “You know, of course, what must happen.”

            Those words were what did it. The man next to the one across from August stood suddenly, causing his chair to scrape backwards. He seemed to be both trying to escape and to assure the Dark Lord he was wrong, that he was loyal.

            “Please, your lordship!” he begged quickly as he stood, moving to leave. Voldemort scowled and did not bother to stand himself as he brought his hand above the table. His wand pointed at the man as he frantically attempted to get away from the table.

            “Wilkinson, you fool.” In a flash of green, the man fell - limp, not even onto the ground. He hit the chair he had previously been sitting on with a thud before he fell from it and slid onto the floor, disappearing under the table. The man across from August, who ‘Wilkinson’ had been sitting beside, brought his hands above the table and folded them atop the wood. His hair, long and black, fell onto his collarbones and glimmered in the light. August didn’t know if this was classified as ‘glossy’, ‘shiny’, or ‘greasy’. He didn’t quite care - his mind was busy _not_ thinking about the dead man under the table, the dead man he could imagine grabbing at his ankles...

            Voldemort stood. “Now you see... there are those among us, even among my most loyal, my most trusted, who fail me... The value of loyalty is lost...

            “Yet.” Voldemort pushed his chair back with a wave of his hand, allowing him to pace in a short line. “There are those of you whom I trust with my very life... those of you I would entrust with parts of my soul...”

            August felt the hand again - this time it squeezed his shoulder. It made his stomach churn - the stench of death was in the air, and despite the dead man under the table, those hands were the most potent thing in the room.

            “But let this serve as a reminder… I do not care for disloyalty.”

            As the hand slinked away once more, August felt his heart calm. He had to be cold to make it here. Emotionless. And so he would be cold and emotionless, as long and as much as needed.


	68. Sixty-Eight

            “You look like shit.”

            “Hello to you, too, James.” Sirius took one of his hands out of his jean pocket to scratch his eyebrow with the nail on his thumb before he shoved it back in, shoulders hunched. He really did look run down, and for good reason - not five minutes ago he’d been fighting a horde of Death Eaters. He’d gotten scratched multiple times - mainly on his face and neck - and he was fairly certain a bruise would be appearing all up his side soon from when he’d been thrown across a room and fell, hard, onto a table that then broke underneath him (he then hit the floor with a thud. The broken wood did nothing to break his fall but thankfully didn’t impale him).

            “Hey, look, I know it’s late, but I just… can I crash here?” With a sigh, Sirius let his shoulders fall back as he spoke. Without meeting James’ eyes, he felt his hands squeeze into fists in his pockets.

            “Of course, mate, come on-- and it’s not _that_ late,” said James, stepping aside to allow Sirius entry. “It’s only eleven.”

            “Eleven thirty,” said Sirius as James closed and locked the door behind him. “Not late for most people, sure, but your nights’ve been ending at, what, seven?”

            “If you’re suggesting that I go to bed when my infant son does, you’d be very incorrect.” James scoffed but smiled, walking with Sirius further into the house.

            “No, but he’s exhausting. Don’t get me wrong - I love him - but Christ, man, he’s discovered crawling and has unlimited energy and endless curiosity. It was one thing when he was just sitting there, but now he’s gone mobile. You must be dying at the end of wrangling him all day.”

            “You’ve got a point. I am really tired - to the point where I don’t think I’ll remember this tomorrow and will most definitely be shocked when I see you in the morning.” With a nod, James pointed up the stairs and began to climb with Sirius behind him. “You can sleep in the spare room.”

            “Alright.” Upon reaching the top of the staircase, Sirius told James, “thanks, mate,” but was unsure if he’d really been heard - James was rubbing his eyes and yawning. He gave a wave and turned towards his room, then walked slowly inside before closing the door behind him.

            A breath shot from Sirius’ nostrils, something akin to a chuckle, before he turned and opened the door to the spare room. It closed behind him, leaving him alone. The lamp on the bedside table was on and lit up the room vaguely. Sirius figured James must’ve forgotten to turn it off and let the light guide him to the opposite side of the bed, where he sat towards the foot, and considered if he felt gross enough to take a shower.

            He stared at the second door in the room, that which led to the bathroom (the bathroom could also be accessed from the hall). Debating got him only so far - he wasn’t really in the right mind to be _thinking_ at the moment. It was as if his brain was taking a while to load, as it struggled to function through his tiredness. He imagined his brain walking through thick but watery goo, struggling to progress, and fell back on the bed the second he realized he was staring at a door blankly and imaging a cartoon brain.

            Hitting the mattress reminded him of the actions of the night - he hissed and sat back up. The developing bruise didn’t appreciate the pressure. Perhaps, he thought, he should go into the bathroom if only to utilize the mirror and look over the bruise he knew would be there - black, purple, yellow - ugly.

            But just as he began to stand, the bathroom door opened, releasing a mix of steam and light from its entrance, along with a man - Remus. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms, causing the jersey he wore - James’ - to ride up slightly, past the waistband of his sweatpants - most likely James’ as well -  revealing the hint of a sliver of skin. It was gone quickly, though, as Remus’ arms fell when he realized he was not alone.

            “Sirius?” he asked, stepping forward. His head tilted, hair still wet, and Sirius noticed his skin - dry, but with new cuts littering it.

            “I didn’t know you were here,” said Sirius, without thinking. Remus shrugged, pressing his lips together. His shoulders fell as he looked at the floor.

            “Well, I am,” said Remus, exactly how Sirius had spoken - more surprised than upset. “Are you looking to sleep here?”

            “Yeah, I was-- are you?”

            With a nod as a response, Remus spoke to himself when he sighed and said, “oh.”

            “James’ probably asleep now, same with Sage…”

            “Hey, Sirius,” said Remus, smiling softly. “We can both sleep here - it’s not a big deal. We’ve been friends for a while - you know I won’t bite.”

            The grin Remus adopted vanished quick as it had appeared. He took a step closer to the bed before he swirling around and moved back to the bathroom quickly. Sirius realized he was about to switch off the light and spoke before he could.

            “Ah-- wait, I’m going to shower, too--” he said, in that moment letting his words decide for him. Remus paused and turned again, nodding awkwardly.

            “Alright.” Remus stepped away from the door and moved to the bed again. This time he pulled back the covers on the side opposite to Sirius.

            Realizing that he now had to get up and shower, Sirius did so, but not before giving Remus an awkward wave as he closed the door. A long breath left him as he rest his forehead against the now-closed door. His forehead left the door’s wood and he took a step back, his chest still heavy.

            Sirius stepped in front of the bathroom mirror and was instantly grateful he’d decided to shower - he did really look like a mess. There were scrapes and cuts on his face and neck, and his hair was littered with tiny shreds of wood (surely from the table) and dust. Pulling up his shirt revealed to him the bruise he’d divined, just as awful as he imagined it.

            Sighing, Sirius took off the shirt and pulled out his wand. Once he’d done his best to rid himself of the injury, he stripped completely and stepped into the shower.

            His magic had done enough to where he felt fine with not putting on his shirt again - which he didn’t want to do because he was clean and it still dirty - so he just wore the sweatpants he’d found under the sink (he didn’t know why they were in there, but he was happy to have them).

            Peeking at himself in the foggy mirror proved fruitless, but a wave of his hand over the cold surface revealed himself to him, allowing him to check his side. No longer the deep colours it had been, black had turned lighter purple, accompanied by faded yellow.

            Another sigh and Sirius was opening the door - turning the handle as he switched off the light. He stepped into the bedroom and closed the bathroom’s door behind him, looking around the room using the light from the bedside lamp that had yet to be turned off. He focused mainly on Remus - on his back, as the boy lay on his side facing away from Sirius and toward the middle of the bed.

            The lamp didn’t do much. It kept the room still mostly dark but gave everything a faint orange-yellow glow. It was poetic, really - the light was almost resemblant to neon, something which always gave the vibe of an emotion with no name. Something passionate, the feeling of being left out for so long and finally getting included in something longed for. Like wrapping hands, arms, bodies around something _craved._

            The way Remus was positioned on the bed made it very clear that the one side of the bed was his and the other for Sirius. There were set boundaries; a place for each of them that did not overlap or merge. They weren’t together.

            Silence hung in the air, only pierced by Sirius’ footsteps, the sounds of rustling sheets, and an exhale as Sirius sat onto the bed. Swinging his feet up, he turned onto his side - the one without the remnants of a bruise - facing Remus. His bare skin brushed against the sheets, his eyes glued on Remus’.

            “I’ll turn out the light.”

            _Click._ Darkness greeted them, then slowly turned into something visible as their eyes adjusted and allowed them to see only by the light of the moon and stars streaming through the window.

            “Goodnight, Sirius.”

            Sirius was all-too aware that he was not alone, that there was someone close enough to him that he wouldn’t even have to straighten his elbow to touch.

            “Goodnight, Remus.”

            Turning onto his back, Remus closed his eyes, head supported by three different pillows. Sirius brought his arm under the one he had, as if he was resting his head on it with a barrier between his skin. He didn’t mind only having one pillow - in fact, he prefered it. It was known among the boys he only needed one, and wouldn’t really know what to do with more (what Remus was doing, what he usually did - using three pillows - was so fucking weird to Sirius. Like, how had he not broken his neck? Merlin, having your head at that angle looked painful, and he was doing it _all night_ ).

            Closing his eyes was a plea, to Sirius, from himself, to sleep. To have no dreams. To fall into the black abyss that was sleep and lose time for hours before waking.

            Time passed incredibly slowly, and after what felt like _surely_ five to fifteen minutes but was really only about thirty seconds, Sirius found himself opening an eye - only one - to peek at Remus.

            Their eyes met - Remus looked at Sirius out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head as Sirius opened both his eyes.

            “Have you been having nightmares?” asked Remus - a dumb question, all things considered, as Sirius had been plagued by bad dreams since they’d met. Living in a room together for seven years, Remus knew Sirius’ nightmares weren’t likely to leave completely (though, in sixth and seventh year, they became less frequent, but they were worse when they did come). And what he went through with the war, with fighting, would’ve given anyone nightmares.

            So, when Sirius nodded, Remus chuckled once self-deprecatingly, muttering, “of course you have. I’m an idiot - that was a stupid question. Sorry.”

            “Doesn’t matter,” shrugged Sirius, “‘s okay, mate.”

            After a few seconds of Remus saying nothing, Sirius spoke again, “what about you? Have you been having nightmares?”

            “Yeah,” said Remus on a sigh. “Sucks.”

            “Yeah.”

            This was quickly turning into the kind of conversation held between kids at a sleepover - the kind spoken softly and with tired minds suddenly capable of so much more, clearer, deeper thought than during the day. They could consider the most complex questions the universe had to offer and keep their minds free. But these conversations were shared by tired boys, and tired boys were usually thinking mostly about sleep. So they turned into tiredly-said “yeah”s spoken on yawns.

            It didn’t take long for their eyes to break contact, and Sirius let his close. He let out a deep breath, slowing himself in preparation to sleep.

            “Hey, Padfoot?” Remus broke the silence. Sirius kept his eyes closed as he responded.

            “Yeah?” he said, yawning. When his mouth closed, his eyes opened.

            “I’m sorry I’ve been... distant, lately. I don’t mean to be.”

            Sirius really, really didn’t know what to say to that, so he just closed his eyes and sighed, “ _yeah_.”

 

            It was dark, above all else. The kind of dark one gets lost in - where its impossible to tell if eyes are open because there is no difference between open and shut. The kind of dark that, supposedly, comes with blindness.

            There was a sudden light, though dull as it was, it did almost nothing to cut through the dark. It hung above him, glittering pathetically, with its yellow light falling onto Sirius’ head without doing anything for him. He still was blind, only now he had a spotlight pointing him out to whatever may be lurking in the dark.

            He was vaguely aware that he was tied up. It must’ve been onto a chair, as he wasn’t sitting on the ground, but he couldn’t tell - where he sat wasn’t a concern. He barely registered the thick ropes holding his arms behind his back - it was fuzzy: his mind and the world around him. If he thought too hard, it turned into static but would quickly go back to what it had been - dark.

            Had he been drugged? It would not have been a surprise - he felt very much like he had been. Like he was floating but had an anchor weighing him down.

            He didn’t know where the light above him was coming from, and he didn’t care - he was too busy staring into the black, waiting for something for reasons he didn’t know. Confusion coated him as he looked the only place he could - forward. The light from above gave him just enough to see inches in front of him...

            There was someone coming. He had no sign of them approaching before they appeared, a shadow, close enough that he could’ve touched them, if he hadn’t been tied up.

            They floated toward him in a shroud of black. Still, as close as they were, he could barely see them - only the outline in the darkness. He squinted, trying to see who they were, unaware.

            Then, they got closer, as if they’d taken a step. It was a slow movement, but the closer they got, the more visible - suddenly, Sirius could see them - the outline got stronger until he was looking at someone fully, though it was still dark.

            A sigh of relief escaped him as he recognized them. He moved his head to look away and smile slightly, hands beginning to struggle as to get him out of his confines.

            “Oh, thank Merlin-- you’ve got to help me, Remus-- get me untied--” Sirius struggled, looking up at Remus once more.

            It registered in his mind that this Remus was unlike the one he remembered - with more scars, _much more_ , so many of them much deeper than before. His features were sharper, more refined. His eyes were animalistic like the rest of him and stone cold.

            “Remus, come on--” Sirius looked away, ignoring his thoughts as he tried to reach for what felt like his wand (he would’ve _sworn_ it was his wand). His wrists restrained, he struggled. “Come on, help me out here.”

            It took him a second to realize Remus was starting to smile, but the second he did, Sirius’ eyes were glued on the werewolf’s face. Slowly, agonizingly so, Remus smiled, a gradual reveal of his teeth - _not_ the teeth he’d had before - sharp and long, like fangs. They were the teeth of a wolf.

            “Remus?”

            Remus’ grin turned to a smirk as he looked Sirius up and down. He spoke and his voice sounded like a growl, but his tone wasn’t aggressive, but teasing. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

            “...what?” Sirius’ voice was meek - that of a black sheep facing off against the big, bad wolf.

            “Even now, with you here and me as I am, you still think... you still believe I care for you?” Teasing, taunting, Remus’ lips formed a mix of a snarl and a smile. “That I love you? I never loved you.”

            “Rem-- what are you talking about? Are you okay? This isn’t like you. This isn’t--” Hopeful thoughts were cut off as Remus made a sudden movement and lurched toward Sirius in an attack, teeth reflecting what little light came onto them. Sirius flinched, but nothing hit him. His eyes were closed as he heard a chuckled scoff, triggering them to open.

            “I knew it,” said Remus, disgusted, voice still sounding like a growl.

            “Knew wh--”

            “You’re scared of me! You always have been. You claim you are not, but I see the truth, Sirius, even if you refuse to.

            “My greatest fear used to be people seeing me as a monster. I was assured I wasn’t, and people didn’t. But I saw the truth. You, James, Peter-- all of you, scared of me. You’ve always expected me to go rogue, haven’t you? You’ve expected me to turn into the big bad wolf.

            “I knew this. I figured, why not make you all right? There is no satisfaction in being meek. Now, I am what you thought of me all along. Congratulations, Sirius. It was you who did this to me - turned me into a monster. This is your fault.”

            Remus gestured to himself and scoffed again. With a look of disgust and annoyance, he spat at Sirius, “how could I love you? How could I have ever loved someone like you?

            “We are both monsters now - you’ve made me one of you.”

            With a reeling mind and limp body he no longer inhabited, Sirius watched Remus speak, shocked.

            “You polluted me. You were always a monster, of course - how could you not be, coming from that family? You tried to pretend, act different, but in the end, here we are - you turned me into a monster just like you. _How_ could I have loved you?”

            In a swift movement of his hand, Remus’ wand was up, pointed directly at Sirius, only a hair’s breadth away from poking his chest. Sirius felt his heart beating wildly, imbuing him with fear, a sudden light flashing through the dark - the familiar deep red - but before he could feel its effects again, he awoke.

            Sirius kept his eyes closed while he returned to his body, feeling much more solid and real. The air hit the bare skin of his torso while blankets covered his legs but stopped at his waistline. He was hot - boiling so - his body drenched in sweat as it lay on its side, facing Remus.

            Despite this, though, he felt relief wash over him. He felt like he had been suffocating and had finally learned to breathe again, heart beating heavy and quick, in a panic. He still had his eyes closed.

            Allowing himself to breathe a few times let his heart rate relax, the familiar dread from a lingering nightmare left him slowly. A few more breaths, and Sirius opened his eyes.

            He should’ve seen Remus, lying in bed with him, asleep. But all his eyes showed to him was a half-empty bed, lit by the gentle light of early dawn. The boy who had shared his dream the last night was gone, leaving him so very, very alone with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him - those that which were filling with doubts.

 

            Sitting down with Dorcas gave Sirius the first chance to relax in hours. An unexpected attack and subsequent battle drained him of energy he already didn’t have, the effects of which he was finally feeling as he sat. He was glad to be alone - save Dorcas - and let himself shed the energetic self he had to adopt every time he was needed. Being as tired as he was would’ve made people stop letting him participate, which he just couldn’t have.

            Dorcas, though, was his friend, and she understood. She had given him a cup of tea after fixing the gash in his arm (it went right through a tattoo - slicing open a rune) and joined him in sitting next to the big window in the kitchen, where just outside, night ruled.

            Sirius wanted to go outside, sit in the grass, and talk, but he knew this could not happen. So he sat with Dorcas in the kitchen, aware it was so late that it was becoming early, and took comfort in the fact that everyone else had either gone home or just wouldn’t come into the kitchen. They wouldn’t be bothered.

            “Well,” said Dorcas, lowering her cup into her lap and smacking her lips after taking a sip, “that was a mess.”

            She said this, of course, in reference to the events of the night - it had gone very bad very quickly, thanks to a sudden ambush. Sirius and a few others, about four of them in total, were attacked by at least six Death Eaters in a place they should’ve been safe. They were making their way from one dangerous place to another, passing through a secret tunnel they had believed to be secure. It hadn’t been.

            “Sure was.”

            The lights were off in the room they sat in, a strange thing, perhaps, to others. Both Sirius and Dorcas found it nice and were still able to see quite well. Sirius shifted in the armchair he sat in, looking at the tea in his hands as if he still hadn’t decided if he wanted it or not.

            “They shouldn’t’ve been there,” said Dorcas, voice whispy as she fell into thought. A glance told Sirius she was wondering why they were - something he had thought about non-stop since they appeared.

            “They shouldn’t’ve known we would be there. They shouldn’t’ve been aware that place exists.” Sirius ended up sounding much more hostile than he wanted, surprising Dorcas. Her brow rose, eyes running over him.

            “...okay,” she said slowly, sitting back, uncrossing her legs. “Do you think someone tipped them off?”

            Sirius said nothing, his only response a long exhale. Taking a sip of her tea, Dorcas looked at him over the rim of her cup. She lowered it, and this time placed it beside her on a wooden side table (atop a coaster, of course). Hands folded, she sighed and asked him, weary, “do… do you think there’s a spy? I know there’s been talk, but…”

            “I don’t think it’s August Charles, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I mean, he’s toward the top of the suspect list, but not the top. How would he know about some of the stuff that’s most likely been tipped off? He doesn’t really show up for meetings and he doesn’t socialize around here, so the only person who could’ve told him would have to be Dumbledore - and I don’t think he’d do that. But then again, there’s a big chance he is the spy…”

            “It could be him. Definitely.” With a nod, Dorcas bit her lip. “I hate to say it, because he’s always been so nice. But, Merlin, if it’s anyone...”

            She sighed and continued, “if he’s not at the top of your list, who is? I mean, it isn’t _me_ , I’m pretty sure it isn’t _you_ … James and Sage are too busy, and we know they both wouldn’t… Peter’s too much of an idiot - I say that lovingly - and it isn’t Remus, probably neither of the Longbottoms or the McKi--”

            The look she gave him told him he had indeed been making the face he worried he was making.

            “...okay, so who do you think it is?”

            “Well,” Sirius sighed, knowing she wouldn’t like his real answer. “You know--”

            “Come on, Sirius, just tell me.” Dorcas’ expression was both playfully annoyed and worried, something he had to look away from.

            With his boot string running through his fingers as he needed to do something with his hands, Sirius considered. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her - he did - but… this wasn’t something he could just _say._ But his eyes flickered back on her, and he let out a deep breath and the truth, albeit slow and reluctant. “...Remus.”

            “Hold on--” the worry was gone from her face, fully replaced with confusion. “Are you--” she chuckled awkwardly, “okay, what the fuck? I know things have gotten tense between you two - more now than ever - but… holy shit, Sirius, what the hell?”

            “Hey, it’s not like--” cut off, Sirius wasn’t given the chance to explain himself.

            “Have you told James?”

            “Yeah.”

            “What did he say?”

            “He punched me.”

            “Fucking _good_!”

            Sirius let out a huff and leaned back, crossing his arms, ignoring the looks Dorcas gave him. Biting his lip, he looked at her and away quickly, taking a breath.

            “Alright, look. I don’t know who the spy is, whether it’s August or... whoever.” The sound of protest Dorcas emitted was cut off as Sirius continued, not very loud but a clear indicator she still had an issue. “ _But_ , I know whoever they are, they’re the reason what happened tonight did - they’re the reason Jet died.”

            Dorcas closed her eyes and let out a breath, “yeah.”

            They sat in silence for a while, staring out the window and occasionally glancing at each other, both thinking deeply. It was minutes before anything happened again - Sirius stood and walked to the sink where he placed his empty cup. He didn’t turn around to look at Dorcas, though, after he had put his cup down, and instead closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. As the breath escaped him, he opened his eyes again and turned. Dorcas watched him, her own cup empty in her hands.

            “Do you think you’ll sleep tonight?” Her voice was soft, her thumb trailing the rim of her cup. She knew, most likely, he wouldn’t. He’d been inches away from Jet when he’d fallen to the ground like a limp doll.

            When Sirius shrugged, he knew she would see past it - she knew him too well. So he added, “I’ll try.”

            Looking out the window and back at him, Dorcas gave a sad smile and sighed a “yeah.”

            Just as Sirius began to walk out the door, he turned back to her, looked her over, and sighed. “Take care of yourself, Meadowes.”

            She nodded, a response which made him take the final step out the door and head home for a restless night.

 


	69. Sixty-Nine

            “ _YOU_.”

            August had taken one step into the Order’s main room, hadn’t even looked around him yet, and had not so much as opened his mouth when he heard someone say, in a voice mutilated with anger and dripping with disdain, something he could only imagine was for him. Perhaps he was nothing but paranoid - worried someone saw him come in and decided it was a good day to remind him how much they didn’t like him. The first thought that ran through his head was, _oh shit_ , quickly followed by, _probably not talking to you - keep moving._

            He would’ve looked around the room anyway - just to check his surroundings - but now, when he did so, it was a precaution. To be sure he wasn’t the ‘you’ the furious voice had referred to.

            As it turned out, he was.

            Stood right next to a chair at the table, none other than Nikola Hexagot was stared at him, pointing directly at his chest, nostrils flaring and eyes red and puffy. She’d been crying, and August assumed only seconds before, she’d been sitting. He could almost picture her shooting up as he entered the room, mad at him for some reason.

            She wasn’t alone, with someone sat beside her who she had most likely just been talking to. That person, Emmeline Vance, was grabbing at Nikola’s robes, trying to get the woman to sit down again, muttering, “Nikola, come on... won’t do anything... just sit down, ignore it...”

            August resisted the urge to roll his eyes and say something like “ _sigh_ , _hello_ , Hexagot,” as Nikola looked genuinely upset. A glance at the rest of the room (quick, as he was mainly focused on Nikola’s pointing finger and flaring nostrils) told him it wasn’t just him, a woman who looked ready to maul him, and a woman who pleaded with Nikola to “ _just sit down_ ” in the room. Three other people, all watching the events before them unfold, stood about (Dorcas Meadowes, Edgar Bones, and Sturgis Podmore).

            Nikola fumed as she elaborated for him a bit more than just “you,” but confused him tenfold.

            “ _You’ve killed her!_ ” Nikola hissed, her hand falling from pointing at him to move her chair, allowing her to step away from the table and take a few steps closer to him.

            Genuine confusion overtook August - he didn’t know who Nikola was talking about and why she’d think he had murdered her. Nikola, thankfully, elaborated once more, alleviating some confusion but still leaving far too much information out.

            “You’re the reason Imogen’s dead!”

            Now, this was a wild accusation, and was still very confusing, but gave August something to work with other than ‘ _she thinks I’ve murdered someone_ ’. Imogen Randall was close with Nikola. The two of them were friends (at least, as far as he knew). But he hadn’t known she’d died - this was a surprise, as was the accusation that he was the one to have killed her.

            “I’m-- _what_?” In his confusion, August ran a hand through his hair and stared at Nikola. Emmeline had stood, following after Nikola in attempts to get the girl to stop.

            “Don’t play dumb with me! You - you’re the spy! We all know it! You told the Death Eaters about the mission tonight, _you_ got them to show up where we were, and _you_ were the one who got her killed! It’s all your fault!”

            “Nikola, please--” Emmeline begged, only to have Nikola shrug her off and step closer to August.

            “No! I want him to admit what he’s done.” The look she gave him was one of pure and utter hatred. All hints of civility were gone, as Nikola was no longer willing to pretend and be nice to August. She took another step closer, just over arm’s reach away.

            Her eyes shot into August like hot knives and she commanded him, “admit it!”

            “Nikola,” August began, using her first name and a cool tone in an attempt to calm her down - he knew she was grieving, if Imogen truly was dead. He spoke slowly, “I am not a spy and I am not a part of Voldemort’s army. I had nothing to do with the events of tonight - and frankly I don’t know what’s happened--”

            “Liar! You’re the spy! You’re one of them!” Nikola’s face had gone red and her arms flailed while she still pointed at him. He was half expecting her to stop her foot on the ground, much like a toddler during a tantrum.

            “Hexagot, please, I am not--”

            “Prove it, then!” With a gesture to his arm, Nikola crossed her arms and let her body settle somewhat. “We’ve all seen the mark on their arms - show me you don’t have one!”

            August’s eyes widened slightly. He was honestly impressed she’d thought of that. A few months ago, the Order figured out, thanks to many interactions with them, Death Eaters seemed to all have tattoos of the Dark Mark on their inner forearm. So she wanted to see his arm to be sure he wasn’t a spy. He had a big feeling that no matter what she saw, she wouldn’t be happy.

            “Excuse me?” said August, in the most offended and shocked tone he could manage. Nikola scowled, watching him closely. With her arms still crossed, one of her hands slowly and subtly made its way down her side, about to reach where she had her wand.

            “You heard me - show me your arm!”

            Now, August could’ve just done what she said and dealt with the consequences sure to come from what she’d see, but he was feeling a lot like putting up a fight. So, instead of pulling up his sleeve, he told her, firm and offended, “no.”

            Nikola half-scoffed half-chuckled. To herself, she muttered, “I fucking knew it.” Then, to the few people in the room (all watching this interaction with wide eyes), she spoke not unlike a lawyer. “Is this not proof of his guilt?”

            “I don’t have anything to hide, Hexagot--”

            “So why do you hide?! If there is nothing which proves your guilt, you can show us the lack of evidence and be done with it!”

            “You won’t be done with it, though - I know you won’t. If I show you my arm, you will see nothing there and make new claims, new accusations. You will take my compliance and abuse it, forcing me to constantly prove my innocence - I will be subjected to far more than showing you my arm. As long as I stand here and comply with your demands, there will always be new ones - for as long as I am a part of the Order. You slander my name and demand to see proof of my innocence when the only thing suggesting I was guilty was your own words!”

            August had a brief moment of realization during the two seconds after he quieted. Thankful Nikola had not begun to speak again, he continued. “I will never be a true member of the Order of the Phoenix. I know that now. No matter what I do, I will not be trusted.”

            A few, very cinematic seconds passed and August concluded, “you won’t see me again, Nikola Hexagot.”

            “Wh--” Nikola’s head tilted. Her anger turned to confusion for just seconds. “What do you mean?”

            “I’m going to speak to Dumbledore and leave the Order of the Phoenix.”

The small crowd around them let out murmurs August ignored as he turned around and headed to leave out the door he’d only entered minutes before.

            He wasn’t going to _really_ leave the Order - he didn’t think he could, now that he was in so deep. No, for appearance’s sake, he’d stop going to meetings and pretend to leave (resign?), but he’d still be a member. Still, he’d perform his missions and communicate with Dumbledore. But at least now, he’d be left alone.

            The door opened and August took a step out before he paused and turned back, facing a surprised Nikola. He said nothing to her, but looked her right in her eyes as he reached for the end of his sleeve. Pulling up the sleeve revealed to her and the room his arm - pale and freckled, but blank. The only thing on it was a few scars he’d collected as the years passed, but on his inner forearm, he had no Dark Mark, as he showed her.

            A few seconds passed and August shoved his sleeve back to his wrist, turned, and left. Closing the door behind him, he smiled - she’d looked totally shocked.

            And he knew none of the people who’d just seen his left arm’s bare skin would know about the tattoo on his right’s - dark, black ink in the form of a skull and snake. His right arm stayed covered and the truth unknown.

 

            “To the Order of the Phoenix!” A glass was raised, a crystally-yellow, sparkling liquid sloshing from side to side in the hand of a smiling man. Around him, a chorus erupted in time, repeating him with grunts and shouts as a multitude of hands rose, glasses in each of them.

            Dumbledore sipped from his drink that resembled champagne in appearance but not in taste and watched those around him do the same. At his right side, Alastor Moody looked over all company with narrowed eyes, suspicious but relaxed. Aberforth Dumbledore, Albus’ brother, introduced himself to Moody and sook the man’s hand.

            Marlene and Lily McKinnon-Evans stood, arm-around-waist, talking to Frank Longbottom and James Potter - both of whom were sipping on firewhiskey - along with Wendy Greene. An ever-changing discussion about unimportant things passed between them all, a welcome relief from the serious and necessary topics they usually spoke of.

            Frank’s wife, Alice, was laughing at something Benji Fenwick had said with Emmeline Vance. Edgar Bones was apologizing profusely for the drink he’d just spilled, even though he’d immediately cleaned it up with his wand, amidst a teasing Caradoc Dearborn. Elphias Doge, wearing his dumb hat as usual, was attempting to ignore the Prewett brothers, who wouldn’t stop speaking in limerick and following him around the room.

            Dedalus Diggle, Sturgis Podmore, and Nikola Hexagot were discussing the properties and the body of a bottle of wine they’d split among the three of them, using fancy words such as “bountiful” and “dry” even though they didn’t know what they were doing. How could a wine be dry? It’s a liquid! Either way, they went about their night commenting things such as “the vineyard's soil was rich, there’s no doubt about that...”

            Sage Potter was having a lovely and lively discussion with Hagrid, a man she truly wished she would’ve been able to see more often, over the issue non-blooming pugongias (a magic plant that, soon after blooming, would die and turn into the perfect magic fertilizer, capable of turning even the simplest of daisies to a magic plant - most likely causing the daisy to shoot sparks and the flower to spin rapidly) were posing.

            A somewhat-freshly short-haired Sirius Black drank butterbeer with Dorcas Meadowes, occasionally meeting James’ eye, when they would both make funny faces at each other for less than seconds, trying not to get caught.

            Remus Lupin stood in a corner, watching everyone, mind busy and body tired. He rubbed at his eyes which stung every time they felt air, wishing they were closed, and sipped a Gladius Glomper - a wizarding beverage. It tasted something like tree leaves - more specifically _forest_ tree leaves, and was laced with a pepperup potion. He kinda hated it, but it was helping. Plus, it was pretty - a dark orange-red, flames, like leaves in Autumn, with golden undertones that shimmered in the light whenever the liquid swirled.

            Beside him, Peter looked out at the room of people and bit his lip. He occasionally made comments to Remus. Their conversation was miniscule and thin but comfortable.

            “Now!” Dumbledore, at the front of the room, called for everyone’s attention. People abandoned conversations and morphed into different groups. Sage and James converged and moved over to Peter and Remus in preparation. “Picture time! Everyone get together... come now...”

            A camera rose into the air on its own where Dumbledore had just been standing, posed to capture the moment. Peter squeaked as Sage came on one side of him and James on the other, both grinning and holding up their glasses.

            All around him, people got ready, laughing and smiling (or, like in Moody’s case, just looking at the camera), the air in the room was positive. Happy. Electric, even. One wouldn’t think the group was a wartime organization full of warriors - no, they’d most likely think this was a friendly gathering of some kind (perhaps they all played golf together).

            The flash went off, allowing everyone to go back to doing whatever after Dumbledore thanked them all. Remus watched as Sage’s grin turned to a scowl and back again while she looked around the room. James noticed this and wrapped his arm around her waist, stopping her from being able to look around all-too-much.

            “Come on, just ignore her...” said James, lowly, to Sage. The scowl reappeared and Sage began to protest when Peter stopped her.

            “What’s wrong?” Stepping closer to Remus, Peter tilted his head at Sage. She huffed, something Remus hadn’t seen her do in quite some time.  

            “It’s fucking Hexagot-- Nikola.” Sage almost hissed the name Peter almost lit up with realization at. The news of Nikola practically tormenting Sage’s brother into quitting the Order had gotten around quick, and was greeted with different reactions. Some people were happy (“he was totally the spy - it’s a good thing he’s gone!”), others upset (“he was a good fighter and seemed a good man. He’ll be missed, for sure.”), and some furious. It’s a bit of a no-brainer which side Sage was on. (Dumbledore, too, was furious. He’d found Nikola not long after August had gone to him and gotten close to yelling - as close as he’d get, most likely. Benji Fenwick was there, and according to him, it was a shock Dumbledore hadn’t kicked _her_ out of the Order. Benji had added, when he’d told Remus, “suppose now he can’t afford to lose many more, can he? We’re down so much as it is... I’ll tell you, if I were him - Charles, I mean - I would’ve hexed her and walked out but stayed a member. Leaving us right now... Shameful.” This made Remus consider that this wasn’t quite a standalone incident, but he agreed - August Charles shouldn’t’ve left.)

            After her shock had worn off, Nikola had gone right back to talking shit. She’d tell anyone who’d listen (minus Sage. She wouldn’t even look at Sage.) that August’s leaving had proved he was a spy - “left at the first sign of trouble! He wasn’t loyal at all, not to us.”

            Sage hated her.

            “Oh,” Peter drawled, realization painting his features. “Yeah. Okay.”

            “Just ignore her, pretend she isn’t here--” James’ hand rubbed Sage’s side comfortingly, bringing to her a calm feeling. She let out a breath, slow and heavy, and nodded.

            “Ah, Sirius, how’s your neck doing?” A few steps away, Remus overheard a conversation. Sirius had been walking towards Remus and the gang when Sturgis Podmore stopped him, commenting on how the man had recently gotten his hair cut. Sirius, whose hair had been long for a considerably long amount of time, hadn’t had his neck’s back open and exposed for a while, a shift change he was most likely enjoying as the summer settled in.

            “Alright,” shrugged Sirius. “He’s rather happy with the freedom. Been so hot, hasn’t it?”

            He nodded to Sturgis then continued towards James who greeted him with a clap on the back. Sirius grinned and stepped into the conversation.

            “Sup, mate?” asked James, prompting Sirius to shrug again and make the “I don’t know” noise.

            “‘S whatever.” He took a swig of butterbeer, sneakily avoiding looking at Remus - something subtle the werewolf still noticed (and wondered, as it _was_ so subtle, if he’d imagined it). Sirius shrugged once more, grinning, and said, as one word, “you know.”

            “It’s nice to see you two out.” Peter spoke up, addressing James and Sage, who had been trapped in their house for months. Being ‘in hiding’ was taking a toll on them, one they were grateful to escape for a night to be with their friends at the Order.

            It wasn’t too long ago when they stopped going on missions. It hadn’t been a sudden thing - there wasn’t a strong cutoff. It wasn’t like there was a command, like Dumbledore had met with them and prohibited going out. Things slowed and slowed, and the both of them did less and less until they hadn’t done anything in weeks.

            “It’s nice to be out,” sighed Sage, seeming to forget about Nikola as she moved closer to her husband. Across the room, someone called out Peter’s name, causing the boy to make his way over there, leaving the conversation to speak with Caradoc Dearborn.

            “Harry’s with Bathilda,” said James, smiling. He sighed, “I love him, but getting a break is… amazing.”

            “She keeping him tonight?”

            Sage, who had just taken a sip of her drink, snorted, and immediately wiped up liquid from her chin as she coughed. Sirius grinned, looking at her teasingly. He opened his mouth, surely about to say something even worse, something with no thought to it, something way more suggestive. James hit his arm, causing the boy to close his mouth and chuckle instead of speaking.

            The night they all spent at the Order was strange, as usually they were there fighting a war. This night - bordering on happy - was something different. They were laughing and enjoying warm feelings instead of what they usually experienced while fighting and planning and talking about death and such.

            So the air in the room was happy, maybe even hopeful. The future of the Order, of all of its members, and the world was uncertain. But there was no doubt that the future contained certain doom and  things would get worse - far, far worse - before they got better.

            But every person there was willing to face the worse parts in order to get to the better. And they all knew exactly what the worse could mean for them - death, torture, things terrible beyond all imagination - but faced it anyway. The reward was worth the risk, they all knew.

            So many of them, before the war’s end, would succumb to the worse.


	70. Seventy

            When he got home for the first time in almost a day, Sirius had less than half of an hour before he had to leave again. This half hour, he had decided, would not be spent on the nap he so desperately wanted, but instead on a shower - something other people had told him he needed (this was fair, as he had been shot with funky-smelling goo earlier in the day. It had been a _long_ day.) quite badly.

            After he’d showered, he was to leave again (and say goodbye to his bed when he wanted to have a much longer conversation with it) and go right back to what he had been doing - Order missions.

            The Order had been taking up most of his time lately. He might’ve been more open to working his arse off if it wasn’t so fucking hot outside, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. The heat was nothing too wild for the time of the year, but it was still driving Sirius absolutely mad. Rather sunny and quite warm, days passed slowly and quickly at the same time, something that reminded him of school.

            As he took off his muddy shirt (goo still hung onto it in many places) and stepped into the bathroom - not bothering to close the door - he heard a tap at his window. Shirtless and tired, Sirius turned around and headed back in his bedroom. The gross shirt was thrown into his bin and he rubbed his hands on his jeans, freeing them somewhat from what they’d picked up from the shirt. With still-kinda-gross (his jeans weren’t that clean) hands, he pulled back the blue curtain covering his bedroom window.

            Sitting on his windowsill, staring at the glass (Sirius couldn’t tell if it was watching its reflection or Sirius) and teetering around, was quite a large and majestic owl. Sirius didn’t recognize the owl, but he had a feeling he knew who had sent it.

            It squawked, a noise muffled by the glass, at Sirius - his way of telling the man to ‘open up!’ and did what Sirius thought might be the bird equivalent of glaring right at Sirius’ torso (where it was level with).

            “Alright, alright,” murmured Sirius, sounding annoyed though he was betrayed by the smile on his face. He reached down and pulled the window open, letting in both a burst of hot air and a cool breeze - something that confused him but only for a second.

            The bird hopped inside, onto the other edge of the window’s sill, and thrust its leg at Sirius. There was a paper, an envelope, tied around the leg with string holding it in place. Even with a glance, Sirius could see it was thick - at least, thicker than what would usually be tied around a leg. If it’d been him, Sirius would’ve just had the owl hold the letter in its beak. But no matter - a tug on each end of the string let the bow unwind and the string loosen, and the letter uncurled.

            Absentmindedly giving the owl a few scratches on its head, Sirius took the letter off the leg fully and attempted to flatten it. It disobeyed, as it wanted to keep curled up somewhat, but Sirius couldn’t be bothered to care all too much.

            Keeping his shower in the back of his mind, he turned the envelope over to see its back, where, in familiar handwriting, was scribbled his name. Well, not his _name_ name - the black ink said “ _Padfoot_ ”, as a precaution just in case the owl had been intercepted.

            At once, he knew who the letter had come from. His initial suspicions had been right - it was from Sage. This wasn’t the first letter she’d sent - though they didn’t come often (less than once a month) - and was probably only an update about life at the Potter’s.

            He’d been feeling guilty about visiting for a while, but he’d been so busy - the Order took most of his time (it was then only 23 minutes until he had to leave again - he’d have to hurry! Thankfully, he had short hair again, so he wouldn’t have to spend all his time brushing, washing, and drying all that hair). The main thing he thought about, though, when he thought about the Potters, was Harry - his godson, whom he missed loads and loads. It was Harry’s first birthday only days before, but Sirius hadn’t been able to go see him because he was too busy. He had sent a present, but he still wished he could’ve gone.

            Opening the envelope with one smooth swipe of his finger, Sirius pulled the letter out and unfolded it as he moved over and placed the empty envelope on his dresser. Folded into the letter was a picture, one he saw only the back of first and debated with himself over waiting to look at until he’d read the letter.

            His self-control proved too weak - he turned the image over and looked at it before he’d even decided if he would or not. As he turned it over, he began to sit down but stopped himself mid-sit as he remembered how gross his pants were. When he stood back up, the owl looked at him strangely before glancing out the window again as if wondering if it could leave yet.

            The picture was adorable and hilarious and his brain hardly registered it before it decided to read the letter, unfolding it all the way and flattening it somewhat to ease his reading. Paper crinkled as his eyes began to scan the pages, of which there were two, both with hand-written words in black ink covering them.

            He read:

 

_To the Spectacular and Magnificent Padfoot,_

 

            Pausing to laugh, Sirius glanced at the owl still on his windowsill, who looked about ready to leap off the sill and fly away.

            “Hold on, mate, I might need you,” he said, hints of chuckles in his voice. The owl hooted once quite pathetically, something like a sigh, before it turned back to face inside. If he could’ve rolled his eyes, Sirius supposed he would’ve been doing so. But he didn’t care - he just went back to reading.

 

_I don’t think it’s possible for me to thank you enough for Harry’s birthday present - I don’t think he’s ever loved anything as much as he adores that broom. Only one year old and flying... you can imagine how happy James and I are. He’s already got skill, I tell you! Though, I’d prefer if his ‘practice’ wasn’t taking place inside of the house... the poor cat, he’s almost died more times than I can count already, and it’s only been about a day. He’s not happy, I’ll tell you that. Either way, James says Harry’s got the form of a Chaser, and I think I agree - just take a look at the picture I’ve attached._

 

            Sirius did so. His eyes looked from the letter to the picture, where Harry was indeed zooming around on the toy broom Sirius had bought him. The boy - a year old - was being chased - somewhat wrangled - by his parents. James’ face was visible and very bright. He laughed as he watched his son ride around. Harry was ecstatic, head thrown back happily, legs kicking as they hung off the broom, wearing footie pajamas, as if he’d awoken from a nap and immediately gotten onto his broomstick. The back of Sage’s head moved around as the woman also chased Harry around, until at one point she turned to face him, and she smiled at Sirius while gesturing to Harry and giving a ‘ _can you believe this?!_ ’ type look.

            Grinning, he continued to read.

 

_Perhaps we’re a bit biased, as Chasers ourselves, but it’s a nice thought, isn’t it? Can you imagine - a family Quidditch team? James, Harry, and I are the Chasers, you’re our Seeker (go fetch the ball, boy!), Moony’s a Beater, Wormtail our keeper... we’d need another Beater, but I think I’ve got a solid plan going._

_Enough about the toy broom (but, really, thank you!) for now. We had a nice and quiet Birthday tea, just us, Bathilda, who has always been so kind, and Wendy, who took a break from her busy work schedule to visit. Really do wish you could’ve come, but the Order’s the priority, we know. It’s not like Harry really knew it was his birthday - he’s a bit too young._

_James is restless, as usual. Being shut up here is making him frustrated - he tries to play it off, but I can tell. Dumbledore’s still got ahold of his invisibility cloak, so he can’t really sneak off... I know he misses you - we all do - so if you could find time to visit, we’d all love it and I’m sure it would cheer him up loads. Wormtail visited last weekend, which was nice, though he was down - I’m sure it was because of the recent news of the McKinnons. Can you believe? I’ve barely stopped crying. I can’t stop thinking about Lily and Violet. I really hope they’re okay - I know I wouldn’t be, if it’d been James... The whole family, not just Marlene, too... Wendy went and visited Lily and said she’s really upset, which is expected. I wish I could go and offer some kind of help, but I can’t, so I just sent her a few things..._

_Things are okay overall here. Harry’s spent most of his time on the toy broom, James and I are spending our time moving stuff so he doesn’t break anything and cleaning up when he does, which takes up a lot of time... But even though we’re bored, we’re safe, for now._

_Love and miss you (loads and loads!),_

_Sage_

_PS maybe, scrap Wormy as Keeper, give that to Moony, and let the Prewett twins be our Beaters? Strange, I know, but... could work. I could spend hours planning this, really (you know me). But I think I just heard something glass break downstairs and James is laughing seemingly uncontrollably, so I’d better go check that out and make sure they haven’t broken anything all-too-important. All my love._

_PPS. James says to tell you he loves you. And a comment I don’t want to repeat. Come stop by if you want to hear it (it’s not that good, though, so don’t bother yourself too much)_

 

            Sirius snorted and continued to read where there was a rapid shift in handwriting, showing someone else had began to write. He took one look at it and knew it was James’ writing. Forcing himself to not roll his eyes was hard, but he did it.

 

_Sirius, it’s James, it is indeed good enough for you to need to come hear it, really. I’m hilarious, you know that. You’re missing out._

 

            Another shift, and Sage had started to write again.

 

_You’re not. He just told me “tell him he’s a loser” (this I translated into “he loves you”) followed by “and that I think he’s a prat for giving Harry such a good gift. Now he won’t love me” because for some reason he thinks Harry can be bought and you’ve made yourself the ‘number one’ in Harry’s eyes, and now he can never measure up. James is the pr------_

 

            The words got cut off, the beginning of an ‘a’ turned into a sharp line where Sirius was sure James had ripped the paper away from Sage. This was proving quite amusing - he could just picture them bantering and fighting over the letter, probably laughing while they shoved the other aside.

 

_James again. Just come, when you can. Miss you. Hugs and kisses and stuff. <3 _

 

            The letter ended, leaving Sirius feeling very warm inside. He folded the paper up once more and looked at the picture before placing both it and the letter on his dresser. A glance at his clock told him he didn’t have time to write a reply, because he now only had about 13 minutes until he had to go again.

            “Ah, fuck - sorry, owl, I can’t write anything right now - go on, get out the window - ah! Hey, I said I’m sorry, don’t bite me! G-geh-get out, go on...” Attempts to get the owl outside paid off when the bird flew out into the distance as Sirius closed the window. He didn’t bother to shut the curtain or to pay attention to the bite on his finger.

            Hurrying into the bathroom, Sirius couldn’t help but smile as he showered with the letter fresh on his mind. For a while, all he let himself think about was the happiness in it. They were safe, and happy, and enjoying themselves (somewhat). Let later be the time when he allows himself to remember the danger they were all in and the world around them all. For the rest of his break, he was to only think of the good. It kept his mind off of how gross the goo stuck in his hair was.

 

            “Be careful - it’s hot. I’ve chosen ‘English Breakfast Tea’, even though it’s almost three.”

            “It’s no issue, Lily, really - thank you.” With a smile, Sirius sipped at the tea as steam rose from it and hit his face. The second it touched his lips, he regretted not heeding Lily’s warning - it was almost boiling. Burning liquid hit his lips, immediately drawn away as he subtly put the cup down, telling himself to wait. It wasn’t as if he’d come for the tea, either way.

            No, he’d come to see Lily. He didn’t know what to do or what to say to her, but he knew he couldn’t keep away. Almost every time he closed his eyes he worried about her - she hadn’t been a wildly close friend, but he considered them to have a relationship that allowed him to worry when her spouse and all of her in-laws were murdered.

            The story went like this: Marlene, Lily’s wife, had gone out to visit her family after running a few errands. She ended up getting home, to where all of her family lived, after dark, and it was assumed that when she apparated outside, the Dark Mark was already in the air above the house.

            And everyone knew what that meant. The Death Eaters cast the spell creating the Dark Mark over any place they’d killed. People had come to fear the symbol, scared that one day they would come home to the mark hanging above and know all they would find inside their homes would be death, that they’d enter their house and everyone inside would be gone.

            So, Marlene ran inside - desperate, praying someone had survived, someone was okay, maybe they’d gotten out. One of the first things she saw when she entered, along with the kitchen she’d grown up in, was the body of her father, facing the door. She didn’t know this, but her father had tried to fight back to save everyone else.

            Marlene didn’t have time to mourn her father - she knew there were many other people in the house and needed to find them. Frantic, with tears in her eyes and sobs ripping through her throat, she moved through the house and counted the bodies, praying she’d be short in her mental checklist of those who lived there.

            She found her mother in the sitting room with red splattered all down her front. A gash in her chest and still open eyes were burned into Marlene as something hollow took home in her.

            Her aunt, who lived with them along with her two children, was on the stairs, wand still grasped in her hand.

            There were three more people - her two cousins and her brother - to be found. Marlene prayed she wouldn’t see their dead bodies and stumbled up the stairs while calling out their names pathetically. Voice hoarse, broken, and weak, she yelled - gaining the attention of the one person still living upstairs. They stay silent, stay hidden, waiting for her to find them.

            At the top of the stairs, Marlene stared down the hallway with doors on both sides, leading to bedrooms and bathrooms, and thought of how young the three children were. Her cousins were twins, a boy and a girl, who went to Hogwarts, in their… she couldn’t remember what year they were. She couldn’t remember exactly how old they were. Her brother was sixteen, she knew that. But her cousins… thirteen? Twelve? They’d come to stay at the house over the summer holiday. Marlene looked at the dark hallway, a few doors open, and prayed they’d get to return and go into whatever year they were supposed to.

            Calling for them again proved fruitless, though her voice was stronger and steadier. Nothing but silence answered her back. She couldn’t help but think of her daughter - almost a year old. Violet was at home. But home wasn’t always safe. Violet wasn’t necessarily safe.

            With the worry of ten thousand people, Marlene kept on. Bedrooms were empty, empty, empty, until she reached her brother’s. There, on the floor next to his bed, were the three children, together. Marlene developed sudden tunnel vision, unable to see anything but their dead bodies.

            This was unfortunate, as one of the things she didn’t see was the Death Eater standing next to the closet, somewhat invisible. They didn’t hesitate, and killed her instantly, without bothering to banter with her.

            So it was bad. Not only had Marlene died, her whole family had gone with her. Lily and Violet survived, something to be thankful about. Violet, being so young, didn’t quite understand what was happening (though, often, she did ask for Marlene, using her name for the woman - a broken and tiny “mama”), but had picked up on Lily’s mourning.

            Sirius didn’t know exactly how Lily was taking it, but he knew it couldn’t’ve been good. You don’t have your spouse and their family murdered and end up totally okay.

            Lily was, as he observed on this visit, _pretending_ to be okay - and doing a pretty good job at it. If he wasn’t as close to her and was more of an idiot, Sirius supposed he’d have been fooled.

            She did things and smiled, acting like a person - but more like what she felt a person was supposed to be like than just naturally being. Like a good actress, she knew the part she was supposed to play. But, like a bad one, she was just a little off. It wasn’t one thing in particular - it was more like her overall aura, the way she spoke certain words, and such. She didn’t move robotically, but there was something unnatural in the way she sipped her tea.

            This was an act he was seeing, an act she was using most of the time. There was something underneath, her true self, hiding from him and those like him. Sirius didn’t pry, didn’t try to get to that part - to the raw pink flesh underneath, to see what she was hiding. It wasn’t something for him to do. Not something for him to see. This wasn’t a therapy session, and he knew that. This was an afternoon tea with support at its base. (And Sirius knew what it was like to have someone try to heal him, someone who didn’t know what they were doing and didn’t know him, really. It fucking sucked, and he didn’t want to be that person. What Lily needed, right then, was a friend - a break.)

            “How’s Harry?” she asked, putting down her own cup next to Sirius’ onto a separate coaster. “He’s your godson, right?”

            “Yeah. Saw him the other day, first time in a while - been so busy. He’s good - finally mastered standing and starting to walk. James and Sage are pretty frantic about that, but… yeah. He’s very talkative.”

            Lily smiled, looking into the distance. “Violet’s not very talkative, but when she does talk, she’s speaking really well, but only when she needs to. I think she’s going to end up one of those kids who hardly say anything for years and suddenly they’re five and talking in full, grammatically correct and complex sentences.”

            “Harry’s figuring out languages by doing, and she’s figuring it all out in her head. Pretty neat, isn’t it? To think about the way kids grow? It’s really fascinating.”

            For a few seconds, they sat in silence, before Lily broke it again with a sneeze that’d been building, and then immediately responded to him.

            “It really is.” There was another lull, this one shorter and not caused by Lily’s sneeze, before she asked him something he hadn’t wanted to mention during this visit. “Can you believe what happened to the Prewitts?”

            “Hardly. But I guess if anything was going to happen to them, it’d be that - they really wouldn’t’ve gone without a fight.” With a sigh, Sirius smiled sadly at Lily and remembered. Only a week before, the Prewitts, Fabian and Gideon, fought a group of six Death Eaters. Although they fought valiantly, they fell to them - the battle was hard-fought, but there was only so much two brothers could do facing off against six. They died noble deaths.

            “Yeah.” The expression on Lily’s face was terribly pained - she had to very much force a smile, but couldn’t hide her quivering lip and eyes as they slowly filled with tears. It was then when Sirius began to inwardly panic, as he very aggressively did not know what to do. As she began to cry, holding her face in her hands and sniffing, he even _more_ aggressively did not know what to do.

            Should he comfort her? Pat her on her back? He’s never had to comfort her before, and he didn’t know exactly why she was crying (he had a feeling, though, _perhaps_ it had to do with her dead wife), so he was totally lost. Attempting to get a feel for the situation, he leaned in closer and angled his body weirdly, looking around as if he’d find something in her sitting room to solve the problem.

            “Hey, man…” he said, trailing off, hand hovering over her shoulder (he could _not_ decide if he should pat her back or if that would just be weird). “It’s okay…”

            Lily made a sniffly and muffled noise that sounded vaguely like “sorry.”

            “I mean, some bad shit’s happened to you - it makes sense you’re sad… you can be sad about it… it’s all horrible, terrible, mind-bogglingly bad. I don’t want to say it’ll get better, because that’s cheesy and oversimplifies things - like it’s going to be fucking hard and stuff, but… I dunno… it will get better, probably. Things tend to get better even if you don’t want them to.”

            Another sniffle, and Lily was sitting up, wiping her eyes that had suddenly turned very splotchy red, along with the rest of her face.

            “Yeah,” she said, soft and rather broken. For a second, she seemed as if she was going to be okay. But then she made eye contact with Sirius and more tears began to well. She spoke again, voice frail and choppy, looking right at Sirius with those beautiful green eyes of hers. “I miss her so much, Sirius. I keep expecting her to come home and be fine, or even just be sitting in the kitchen, or to be organizing the laundry… but she never is. And she won’t ever be, again. I won’t see her again, and I already miss her so much without even fully realizing she’s gone, and I just don’t know when my brain will finally understand she’s not around anymore but it hasn’t yet, and I’m just so… I don’t know, lost, maybe? Not good, that’s for sure.”

            Sirius really didn’t know what to say to comfort her. So he said, against his better judgement, the first thing that came to his mind.

            “Hey, er, death… sucks, man.”

            Lily chuckled, a part of it dry and another actually amused. “It sure fucking does.”

 

            If Wendy was to move up in the workforce, get as close as she could to the top of the Ministry, she would have to work. It wouldn’t happen in a day, a week, or even a year - it could be her whole life before she found herself in a position to be proud of. She’d have to plan and figure out exactly what jobs she could get at where she was, strategically coming up with different paths she could take. What were her strengths? Which careers would she do well in? What were the jobs that would get her going? She’d need to figure out these things and more, putting her heart and soul into career planning.

            It would be hard, she knew. When she needed to, she could use her relationship with Albus Dumbledore to prove herself credible. She had a plan, somewhat, of what to do. Even this - just the planning - was difficult and draining.

            She hadn’t even done much, and she’d turned into someone she wasn’t. Like a conspiracy theorist or someone attempting to solve a murder - someone obsessed - she had papers, different theories and possibilities written all over them, spread all over her flat. It helped, writing things down - like she could see her ideas in front of her and keep track of them better.

            Of course, the paper covering her floor would be cleaned up with a wave of her wand. But her thoughts were not so easily tidied. She wasn’t work-obsessed, but she was close.

            To summarize, Wendy was putting an intense amount of labor into finding a way to get a higher-up, nice job at the Ministry of Magic. She planned and planned, looking for a way to grab onto a position and hold it tight - she knew she’d have to work to get it, to get _any_ job with the Ministry.

            With all of her planning, thinking of many different possible situations and outcomes, it had not occurred to her she wouldn’t have to work for a job - and why would it have? By all accounts, she wasn’t the kind of person who was guaranteed a job. Nobody was just going to _hand_ her an opportunity (she’d already been given a nice opportunity when Dumbledore gave her her position in the Order).

            That was, she didn’t _think_ someone would hand her a job on a silver platter, hers for the taking. But, as was often, she was wrong.

            Loretta Paley, Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, mother of three, a person who had been continuously kind to Wendy in the past, was pregnant for the third time. As such, she was planning out her maternity leave - planning on taking a couple weeks before and a couple months after she gave birth off.

            But, as her job was somewhat important, the Minister didn’t want to not have anyone in the position for almost three months. So the Minister had asked Loretta if she had any recommendations for individuals who could be her replacement for that time.

            “And I just _immediately_ thought of you!”

            The words Loretta told Wendy as she gave the backstory of her day rang in the girl’s ears for hours afterwards, shaking her down to her core.

            Loretta literally handed Wendy a position - a _higher position_ \- on a silver platter. Sure, it was temporary, and she most likely wouldn’t be allowed to do _too_ much, but _holy shit._ Was the world finally giving her a break? Was this an apology for all the shit life had put her through? It was the opportunity of a lifetime - something better than she could’ve ever dreamed.

            “So, what do you think?” Loretta had asked, receiving no answers from the open-mouthed Wendy. She smiled and straightened her pink-framed glasses, fully aware of the charity of her actions, knowing exactly how good of a chance this was for Wendy. As she offered this job, Loretta felt as others do after donating money or volunteering at a homeless shelter. True to form, she was being a little patronizing, but the opportunity she was giving made up for it, in Wendy’s mind. “If you could come in tomorrow, we could discuss things further, and get it all sorted out. That is, if you _want_ to...”

            Wendy refrained herself from shouting “ _holy shit I want to!_ ” and settled, instead, for, “oh, of _course_ , I want to-- Loretta, this is amazing! I’m honoured you’d think of me!” among other things.

            Wendy’s first day was on the 9th of September - she shadowed Loretta on her last day before she took off, a week before she was due, and gave Wendy the position in her absence. It was made clear to Wendy that she wouldn’t be in charge of anything too big and she wouldn’t be making any real impact on anything, but if she proved herself, if she did a good job, she could be making a name for herself.

            As Loretta had said, “the Minister won’t forget you if you do an amazing job. If you’re good enough… it could solidify your name being in the running the next time we need a spot filled. But if you do a bad job - I’m _sure_ you won’t - but if you _did_ , that vanishes. If you’re really bad… well, I don’t think I have to warn you about that.”

            This was her chance. She worried about what all was riding on this - if she wasn’t up to the task… And it didn’t help that she sort-of, a little bit, just a _tad_ , didn’t know what the hell Loretta actually _did_. She thought “Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic” would do something like what an assistant did, but, really, she had absolutely no idea of what the job had in store until she shadowed Loretta.

            It turned out that the  “Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic” did exactly what one would think. The things Wendy imagined before, when she heard what they were supposed to do - “assist the Minister” - she would just get more confused. “But what does that _mean_?!” she’d call, confused and sure that what she was thinking was probably wrong.

            But she was wrong about being wrong - “assisting the Minister” was exactly what it sounded like. In fact, every time Loretta said something she did, like writing letters for the Minister, Wendy would find herself thinking, _well, obviously_ , and feeling quite a fool.

            Her first day alone was hard - she had to remember all the things Loretta had told her and do all the things she was told, and she found completing these things much more difficult than she had hoped.

            Things weren’t _incredibly_ hard, but they were harder than she anticipated. She sat at Loretta’s desk for an hour longer than she thought she would’ve needed to write just one letter - she had to keep fact checking, rewriting, spellchecking (and not to mention, she couldn’t fucking remember when to use ‘who’ and ‘whom’ - something one wouldn’t think she’d have to decide often). Wendy probably rewrote her first letter to the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation about five times all-in-all.

            Loretta’s job was hard the first few days, but Wendy handled it - she adapted, she learned. It took her about a week to get used to the work - a few days later, on the 17th of September, Loretta had her baby - a boy called Steve. Loretta was to take a couple months off to take care of Steve before she would take her job back, giving Wendy that time to prove herself as much as she could.

            Knowing what she was doing, Wendy could actually do that - she was able to put 110% of her effort into doing the best job ever, something she could be proud of.

            But, also on the 17th of September, Wendy was given news of something horrible.

            She came home happy, glad for Loretta, and tired from a hard day’s work. Still, though, she had things to do. Working for the Ministry didn’t mean she wasn’t working for the Order - she’d gone right to Dumbledore after being offered the position, and he told her that as long as she helped when she got off, he was okay with it.

            So she took off her shoes, put down her bag, and had a slice of toast before she put her shoes right back on and disapparated right to Order headquarters.

            The smile on her face was out of place - the second she walked in, she was greeted by a solemn mood and she instantly knew someone else had died. She didn’t have to guess what was going on - it had happened so many times that she knew the exact feeling the Order gave off whenever one of their own had been killed. It was just a matter of _who_.

            She came upon Sirius first, but he didn’t say anything to her, his head down as he walked out of the room. Wendy had a sudden feeling that he had been there, when whoever it was that died was killed. It was Sturgis Podmore who told Wendy what had happened and that she had been right - someone _was_ killed and Sirius _had_ been there.

            As for who, Sturis told her that as well. Dorcas Meadowes had been murdered by Voldemort himself - a killing curse aimed right at her chest doing her in instantly and horribly. Sirius, Sturgis told her, had been right there, saved only because he apparated away with her body.

            It wasn’t all-too-long after that when almost all of the Bones family, including Order member Edgar, were wiped out. In the early days of October, Wendy mourned - a whole family, gone. Edgar Bones, his wife, and his children were all murdered in cold blood.

            The war had been causing terror and chaos for quite some time, throwing people into panic and dousing them with fear. People died - _were dying_ \- and nothing was getting better. At the rate things were getting worse, there was a legitimate fear the Death Eaters would end up just killing everyone and thus make them impossible to beat.

            But there was hope - there was always hope. Even with the war worse than ever - worse than ever imagined - there was hope. There was a filter hanging in the air that caused everything to seem greyer, darker. But there was hope - sometimes unrealistic and foolish, but still there.


	71. Seventy-One

            October of 1981 was colder than most Octobers and dry, like bread left on a counter a day too long. Autumn was moving in - chilly breezes and bronzed leaves swept through cinnamon-scented air. The crunch of dead and dried leaves was heard underfoot with every step taken outside, as worn Adidas sneakers moved not-yet-carved pumpkins onto porches.

            As Halloween approached - though still quite a ways away - a familiar feeling creeped in. Shivers crawled up spines and scary stories escaped the mouths of widely-grinning children. Terror manifested from the mood of Halloween but also from true fear. As many prepared for a Holiday and for the Winter, others hid in their homes, knowing that leaving could mean certain doom. So leaves would not crunch under their feet - their shoes lay in closets, unused, along with light jackets and cloaks. The threat of the war had yet to fade.

            The season of fear was not truly that. October was the season for temporary fear, fear of things that weren’t real, things that could be escaped by walking away, closing eyes, going home, turning on a light, turning off a television. Clowns and skeletons offered nothing but a thrill.

            For others, those who knew of the war, there really was something to be scared of. The things they feared were not harmless. They were all scared of things real. Things that would scare anybody, if given the chance.

            The war threatened to take away - to kill - that which was held most dear. _Those_ who were held most dear. The threat was real and in no way thrilling. This was no kind of Halloween trick - this was life or death.

            For some, the threat - and therefore the fear - was even stronger. Everyone was a target, but aim was already being taken for a few unlucky individuals. All it would take to finish them off was firing.

            There were two targets front and center, more important than the others. Choosing which to attack would be hard - it could be only one, as logic implied - but the decision was coming along.

            Reason took control, and a debate occurred inside the mind of the man in charge. He thought, figuring out which target would make the most sense to go after.

            The whole thing revolved around a child - a baby - who would someday rival him in power. So which child would have the most power? As was suggested to him, one boy came from a historically Slytherin family on his mother’s side. Was this not a sign the boy had the ability to prosper? If he followed in his elders’ footsteps - not in those of his parents, but in those of his mother’s father - he would be ambitious.

            Voldemort had known Harry Potter’s grandfather - he’d been close with the man. And if Harry turned out like Cyril, he could be powerful. If he was raised thinking the Death Eaters were brutes, cruel and terrible, he would be against Voldemort. If he was _for_ him, he could be an aid. But if he was not… he was a threat.

            But there was the hope that Harry’s uncle - who turned out like his father - could turn the boy. This was unlikely, though. No matter how much Voldemort trusted August Charles, he knew there was only so much he could do.

            So he decided. The child who could be powerful, ambitious, would be the biggest threat, and therefore would have to be eliminated.

            Voldemort decided this with only one person with him - Snape, who aided in the debate. But there was more to do - finding out where the Potters were and such. And, as an act of kindness, he would tell August, give the man a chance to say goodbye to his nephew and sister (as he had suspicion she would die protecting her child).

 

            August Charles was broke. The money his parents had left him and his sister, as little as it was, had lasted longer than expected. It was spread out sparsely over a few years, paying for things they really needed, while August paid for other things with the money he earned through his various jobs.

            But now? Now, when he opened his wallet, all he saw was an empty pouch and a small picture that wasn’t doing well despite it having only recently been placed inside (for a while, he had a different, well-worn - a.k.a. beat up - picture of Sage from a few summers ago, when she had coloured hair and wild eyes). It wasn’t old, but it had been in there for a few months. At least, when he was greeted by empty coin-pouch now, he got to see a sweet picture of Sage, Harry, and James. In the picture, Harry was about seven months old, held in Sage’s arms, and all three of them smiled wide (often, one of the parents would pick up Harry’s tiny baby hand and wave it around as if he were saying ‘hello’. It was hands-down the cutest thing he’d ever seen before and brought him wild amounts of happiness).

            But the only other thing in his pouch was air and lint. His Vault in Gringotts - number 519 - mirrored this. Only a few coins remained, stacked in a pile he’d sworn to himself was only for emergencies. In the rest of the vault, there was about 3 weeks worth of money for food and such. When those three weeks were up? Who knew - it wasn’t like there would be money coming in. He didn’t have a job - he didn’t have the _time_ for a job. Hell, August barely had the time to shower and do other basic human activities.

            Being a spy wasn’t exactly a high-paying job. It wasn’t even a paying job, on either side. August was sure if he’d’ve asked, both would offer help. Dumbledore would smile and offer him something where he could be paid through Hogwarts - maybe he’d ask him to work for the school as a dueling teacher or something (Dumbledore would make it work). Voldemort would probably end up giving him blood money.

            August wouldn’t ask either of them, though. He was much too proud for his own good, and somehow still managed to tell himself something about how he’d make do.

            To be fair, having three weeks worth of money was surprising. It was strange to think he hadn’t run out of money yet - he felt he should’ve. Apparently, he had more money to begin with than he’d thought. (He would’ve had even more if he had sold the cottage he owned, but that wasn’t really an option. All he could do - all he had the time to do - was leave. Sure, the last-minute protection and concealment charms he’d put on the place would help ensure that when the war ended he had someplace to settle down, but he’d have to survive to that point. And surviving to that point meant he needed to eat - needed money for food. But the idea of having a home to go back to when all was said and done was immensely appealing - even more so because he’d been moving around so much.)

            _At least,_ he thought, glancing over at Harold, who was sitting on August’s bedpost, _I don’t have to feed him - he feeds himself, hunting every night. Could do without all those dead mice, though._

            He never really had a whole lot of time to hang out at home - or anywhere, for that matter - and always had to leave soon after he’d gotten back. He slept during the day, mainly, but only for a few hours. The Death Eaters loved being out after dark, so _he_ loved being out after dark.

            Being a spy wasn’t killing him. It exhausted him and made him horribly depressed (how could he be around people and pretend to have their shitty morals without getting upset sometimes?), but it wasn’t killing him. Perhaps it should’ve been - he could imagine different people doing the things he was and cracking under the pressure, hating how much they had to fake their personality. But he wasn’t. Even the lying, all the lies he told Sage and the people he spied on, didn’t really bother him.

            Why was it, he asked himself, that he was so unbothered by all this acting? He decided that it was something he knew was temporary. And, to be fair, he’d always been quite a snake. He knew how to worm his way out of things, how to lie in ways that ensured he wouldn’t be caught and he’d be believed.

            It wasn’t even a matter of getting used to it - he was fine when it began, and he was fine toward the end. He was a snake, truly, and he was fine with that (although, this was just the way he was - did he really have to ‘become fine’ with anything?).

            But, still, he was horribly depressed and occasionally couldn’t see the point of living. This feeling was dulled by the aforementioned picture in his empty coin pouch - it made him smile (a real, true, unstoppable smile).

            As mentioned before, he didn’t have a whole lot of time to dwell (or to do anything, really) when he was home. In fact, as he sighed (a little too dramatically) and closed his coin pouch, he glanced at the clock on his wrist - the watch he’d gotten forever ago when he’d turned seventeen - and knew he once more had to leave.

            So he did so. Harold was given a few scratches on his head (that he ‘hoo’ed affectionately at), his wallet shoved into his pocket, and the window opened - so Harold could fly out (it was dark, so both August and Harold would be out soon. This worked well, as it meant when August was home, so was his owl, providing comfort and such) - and August grabbed his Death Eater stuff, throwing on the robe while keeping the hood down and mask off.

 

            August’s shoes were hidden under the length of black that was his robe. His hood was still down, mask still off, teeth biting into his cheek. He was bored - this was evident in the way he rolled on the balls of his feet, on the verge of twiddling his thumbs.

            Voldemort wanted to talk to him. About what, he didn’t know, but whatever it was, it was causing him to wait. He couldn’t imagine it was anything all-too important, but there was room for concern.

            He waited fifteen minutes. Not that he was going to complain to the Dark Lord, but… come _on_. By the time he’d finally been able to talk, August had been twiddling his thumbs for five minutes. And twiddling thumbs wasn’t the most _entertaining_.

            Fuck. Was he in a bad mood? Ugh, probably. With his luck, he’d end up being crabby to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and get himself in trouble. Nice.

            “You have summoned me, my Lord?” August bowed as he entered the room - empty, save Voldemort - and moved forward slowly, like was proper, only when told.

            “Yes. I wish to speak with you, to tell you something - lock that door when you close it.” Voldemort stood in front of the fireplace in what was most likely a bedroom at some point but was then almost empty of furniture, the only thing a chair a foot behind the Dark Lord.

            “What is it? Something about the newest plans? About the Order?”

            A dismissive wave of his hand showed his feelings - Voldemort’s face was emotionless as he turned to face August. “No, no… this is something else.”

            “Oh?” escaped him - he wanted to stay quiet, but his mouth had another idea, laying out his surprise in audio form, though August was sure his face was far less emotionless than the man in front of him’s and that the audio wasn’t needed to find him out. With the desire to stay silent already broken, August decided he might as well continue. “Is something wrong?”

            A long sigh came from the Dark Lord. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, posture straight and chest out, looking quite like royalty. He looked away from August, at the fire, and spoke.

            “Your father and I were close,” he began, stating something August already knew. He was going somewhere with this, August could tell. “And I am grateful you have followed in his footsteps, whether it be pertaining to morals or to skill... You are a good man, August - I know this.”

            Voldemort looked away from the fire, right at August, eyes as cold as ever but shaped as if he was trying to appear mildly sympathetic and was basing his expression after imitations of other people’s.

            “You deserve to be one of the first to know... I know you are loyal to me, and I know I can trust you with this information... You will not betray me. I have respect for you, August, and it is because of this that I share the truth.”

            August’s regular Death-Eater-don’t-care façade broke away for a second and his posture faltered while his lip moved slightly, as if he didn’t know whether he should frown or smile in spite of how much stuff sucked. Anxiety seeped in - not filling him, but very much present. Like _he_ wasn’t full of anxiety, but his feet and legs were.

            “You know of the prophecy, that which details my demise at the hands of an unknown boy.”

            This was not a question, and August was beginning to think he knew what he was about to be told, and he very much didn’t want to be right.

            “You know of the two boys this could be, and of my unmade decision of which boy to choose... And, as the prophecy says, it will be my decision that does it, as in going after a boy, I will seal his fate...”

            It was coming, August knew. There was no denying it now - this was surely about what he thought it was. He could only pray it would be Neville. Was that horrible?

            “Well, I have made my decision.” There was a pause, during which August could practically hear anxiety being poured into him. It reached his shoulders.

            “As the uncle of one of the boys, you are close to this situation. I tell you this because I know you will place your loyalties above all else.”

            Here it was. Fuck, he was about to fucking hear it, he knew - and what would he do then? And when had breathing become so hard? How was he still standing so still? Merlin, was he really this good at appearing emotionless?

            “I assume you have figured out what I am about to say.” Voldemort gave August a somewhat sorry look, his hands coming in front of him, making slow and comforting motions as he continued. “Little Harry Potter has to die.”

            August nodded, wanting to be _gone_. But it wasn’t over.

            “Now, I want you to know I do not wish to kill your sister. I will attempt to spare her, for you, and only do what is needed. I assume she will protest, but the night should end with her still living.”

            August was nodding, still, and said something he immediately forgot. He had to tell Dumbledore.

 

            Dumbledore had come up with a plan almost immediately. It was late - August had actually needed to wake him up, but he counted this as something that couldn’t really wait for the man to wake naturally.

            So he stood next to the pajama-clad headmaster and took in breaths and listened after telling all there was to tell. The feeling of something being wrong was still in him - a flow of anxiety moved in and out of him rapidly. Dumbledore pulled August into his office and began to pace, brow furrowed and seeming truly bothered - how he did often while August gave reports.

            “The first plan of action is to tell them - to ensure they are aware. Did he tell you when he plans to attack?”

            “He said that the day he finds out where they are is the day he goes after them. I swore to him I didn’t know where they were - he thinks they’ve been moving around for now.” August stood still, feeling shivers up his back as if a ghost with clawed fingernails was scratching lightly on his skin. The claws ran up his back then back down, light, so he could feel but would not be hurt.

            Dumbledore nodded, making his nightcap move slightly. His mind was unreadable, his face barely offered a window into his concern. “So they are safe - for now…”

            “But they won’t be able to stay hidden forever. Now that he’s looking for them…” August didn’t have to continue, but was comforted by how Dumbledore seemed to be more disturbed than usual.

            “They won’t have all-too-much time before he discovers them…” Dumbledore’s tone changed as an idea appeared in his mind. “There is a charm… incredibly complex, but possibly our best chance…”

            “What is it?”

            “The idea is to take a piece of information - say, the Potter’s address - and place it inside of a person’s soul, so it cannot be given without the secret-keeper’s permission. This will make it so he wouldn’t be able to find the home without the secret-keeper telling him, even if he was inches away from knocking on their front door. Only people who the information is shared with - the address - would be able to find it. And it would be impossible to pass this information down second-hand, so that’s not a worry.”

            “So who would this... ‘secret-keeper’ be?”

            “Well, as I will suggest to them, me.”

            August nodded, hand on his chin.

            “When we tell them,” began August, before he could stop himself, sure he already knew the answer to the question he was asking, “about Voldemort being after Harry now, what will we say - how will we claim to have gotten this information? Will we tell them I’m a spy? I... I’m still going to _be a spy_ , so I’d assume not.”

            “August, I know that lying to someone so dear about this must be incredibly difficult, but you know...”

            “I can’t tell her, I know.” And, what he couldn’t say to Dumbledore, was the truth about how lying to her wasn’t really that hard.

            “But... what am I going to do? Going on...” he wasn’t talking to Dumbledore, really, as he looked at the ground and considered how the hell he was supposed to pretend to be on the side of the man who was literally planning the murder of his family. Pretending to be on his side regularly was one thing - he could go home after hearing all the bigoted and horrible things they all thought and did and simply be horribly depressed. But earlier, when Voldemort had casually hinted towards him murdering his sister if she tried too hard to keep her baby from dying? Fuck, that wasn’t going to go on long.

            There had never been a time - not _once_ \- where he’d wavered in his loyalties to the Order. All the time he’d been working undercover, he was loyal (perhaps he picked the trait up from Sage), always. Doing the things he did was horrible, but somebody needed to do it all, and he was the perfect candidate; Voldemort already wanted him to join his army, all it’d take would be a quick speech - ‘I’ve learned the error of my ways’ or ‘I know how things _really_ are’ type speeches, throw in a couple references to his dad - and he’d make his way in.

            It was all incredibly complicated. He’d seen horrible things, heard horrible things, done horrible things (though he kept the ‘doing things to other people’ thing to a minimum) and knew he was doing what was right in doing so. Dumbledore had come to him with a problem and he was providing an answer. Simple as that (but _so_ not).

            Being around men who genuinely believed there was a superior race and such was hard if only because he struggled with his self control sometimes. But he’d gone a decent while without killing any of them (there was something to be said there about him and how much he’d grown, self-regulation-wise), no matter how much he wanted to just point his wand at them and shoot balls of fire into their horrible, bigoted, _evil_ faces.

            But, to be a ‘good spy’ or whatever, he ‘ _couldn’t_ ’. How fucking dumb.

            “Actually--” Dumbledore took a glance at the clock hanging on the wall (it was really, really beautiful, and looked as if it were made out of the heavens themselves. The clock’s face was a deep blue, and the numbers shined gold, the same colour as a few specks scattered across the blue, all stars) between two portraits - one with a sleeping man inside, his nightcap pulled over his eyes, and the other empty. It was later than August thought - he must’ve talked a lot longer than he was aware. The middle of the night had turned to early, early morning. Still too early to wake for most, but late enough where he had heard people complain-brag (you know - when you ‘complain’ about something, but in reality you’re only trying to seem like you’ve had it worse than anybody else, as if in some way this makes you better than others? Complain-brag.) about having to rise then. Usually, these people worked on a farm of some kind.

            “I should tell them now.”

            August didn’t have the time to ask what the hell he meant by that before the man was showing him - and instantly, August said a mental “ _oooohh,_ ” because _“of course he’d use the Patronus charm thing. Wow, that was really obvious... I need sleep.”_

            To be fair, August’s brain feeling like goo wasn’t really due to a lack of sleep. The cause of his shitty mental state more likely had the events of the night to blame. There was a lot to think about, a lot to absorb. It was like his brain was a sponge, but it wasn’t really ‘soaking up’ as much as it was ‘soaked _with_ ’ information (sopping wet, really).

            The message Dumbledore recorded was short and dense and told James and Sage all they needed to know - though it was certain they’d ask questions. A silvery phoenix listened to his words intently before soaring out the window, heading to the Potter’s. August had a brief picture in his mind of the two of them, asleep in bed, suddenly jolted awake by a giant soul-bird. There were worse ways to wake up.

            It ended with him telling the both of them they should stay home, as much as they didn’t want to - that they no matter how much their initial reaction was to get up and come see Dumbledore, they shouldn’t.

            “Wait. I will come to you. We will discuss further later. For now, stay alert.” He finished and a flick of his wand sent his phoenix off.

            “We will need to tell the Longbottoms, as well, but that can wait for the morning. And as for saying where I have attained this information… if asked, I will say it was from a trusted source.” Dumbledore looked at August, brow still furrowed but not as intensely as before. “Do you wish to be involved in the preparation and casting of the Fidelius charm?”

            “I… somewhat, yes. I’ll have to wait, though - Voldemort told me he is going to tell the other Death Eaters soon and have them look for the Potters. But as of now, he’s only told me and one other person, though I do not know who they were. I have to appear to find out when everyone else does, and then we can tell the Longbottoms and let the information trickle down into the rest of the Order where it cannot be traced back to me.”

            “I understand. You will tell me when he has shared?”

            August nodded, wondering why the world had to be so goddamn complicated - so the whole thing, he tried to think, was… Voldemort had told two people, so if Dumbledore told the Longbottoms, they’d tell everyone, and then if he hadn’t told anyone else, it would be traced back to him… _what_? Fuck, was it the situation itself that was so confusing, or was it just his brain being goo that was so... _ugh_?

            He had a feeling it was all him, but was too goddamn tired and _blegh_ to figure out what the fuck was going on. Thinking more was making him feel like goo other places - like it was spreading from his brain to his skull, moving down his bones until he would eventually have to go home in a fucking jar.

            “There’s a good chance he’ll tell some tomorrow, but I’ll ask a few people and see if they know,” said August, unsure if even that made any sense. Could he leave yet? Did they have more to talk about? He had no idea, so he decided to let the man who could think lead the conversation.

            “I should let you go home - you’ve had a long night, August, and I think you could use some rest.” Looking solemn, Dumbledore glanced at the clock and at August. It was suddenly very obvious it was late, and very obvious that the man was in his sleeping gown and cap. August’s goo brain reminded him he’d woken Dumbledore up in the middle of the night.

            “Yes, alright,” replied August, in a daze. He nodded again vaguely and turned toward the fireplace. “Good night.”

            “Good night, August.”

            “Thank you.”

            “She’ll be okay, August.”

            He was standing in the fireplace and staring at nothing and made no effort to reply.

            August hadn’t told him about the Dark Lord’s promise. That somehow seemed like something he shouldn’t share - something that would give an idea to Dumbledore of how close he was to Voldemort. It wasn’t a big deal, he knew, but it still… felt bad. Like he was doing something wrong - even though, by all accounts, he wasn’t - in being so close that the man had told him, basically, “I won’t kill her if she doesn’t do anything,” by extension ensuring August’s knowledge that if it came down to it, she’d be gone instantly. As _if_ she would just stand aside while her family was murdered.

 

            When Sirius was told “there’s news,” his immediate thought was _oh, someone’s died again_. So it’s easy to understand why he almost had a heart attack on the spot when it was followed by “about the Potters.”

            He couldn’t breathe, and had a strong reaction to laugh, but luckily, upon seeing his face, he was told “they’re not dead!” quickly and panickedly and he could breathe again. But the panic wasn’t all gone - news was virtually _never_ good around the Order, so _what was the news_?

            “You-Know-Who’s decided he’s going after them! He’s forgetting about the Longbottoms, and he’s out to get little Harry Potter. Can you belie--”

            Sirius hadn’t let them finish before he sighed dramatically and cut them off, “ _oh, that_! Shit, I know about _that_ \- I thought something else had happened!”

            “You know about it all?”

            “Of _course_ I do - who do you think I am?!”

            Sirius had walked away from that conversation soon after, as he found he had much better things to do.

            A day after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named decided who to kill, James asked Sirius to be their Secret-Keeper. Dumbledore wasn’t happy with this, but he kept quiet after James put up a real fight. So it was decided - he was going to have an address shoved into his soul, not Dumbledore. And he would die before he gave away that information to anyone.

            This wasn’t hard to understand - Sirius _was_ James’ best, closest friend. Sure, the other Marauders were _close_ , but he and Sirius were beyond brothers. James trusted Sirius with his life and beyond, everyone knew. It was obvious.

            And while Sirius thought about this - mere hours before the spell was supposed to be cast - and how obvious it was, he worried. He’d never give up the information, but… what if it was _too_ obvious? He wanted the Potters to be as safe as humanly possible, and perhaps - just _maybe_ \- they’d be safer if it wasn’t him. If it was someone nobody would think of but still someone to trust, someone they all trusted immensely.

            If he was to suggest they change it, he’d have to do it quickly, as in… what? 10 hours, the spell would be cast?

            Checking the watch the Potters got for him on his 17th birthday, Sirius confirmed this estimate. Just over ten hours.

            He hadn’t even gone back into ‘full-thinking-mode’ (aka totally focused on his thoughts) when his mind seemed to scream a name at him, unprompted. Of _course_.

            Peter - he was _perfect_. People - and therefore Voldemort - wouldn’t even _consider_ them using Peter for their secret-keeper. Nobody would go after him, as long as they didn’t tell anyone about the change. James would agree, obviously, and Sirius knew Peter, like him, would die before giving up their location.

            So Sirius told James, in no uncertain terms, Peter should be the secret-keeper with nine hours to spare. All they had to do was get Peter in on it - er, really, all _Sirius_ had to do was get Peter. James’ job, as it had been for quite some time, was to stay home and take care of his family.

            After a goodbye to Harry that included Sirius turning into his dog-self and back again, he hugged Sage (who was on board with the plan as well and wanted to leave and help just as much as James did) and left for Peter.

            Peter had been living alone for the first time ever since March, when his mother had died. His place was tiny and honestly a little pathetic, but it suited him, weirdly. Sirius felt bad, if he was honest, that he hadn’t been spending any time with Peter. But, to be fair, everyone was so busy lately that Sirius hadn’t really been able to see anyone.

            When he did see Peter, he noticed things, things he didn’t mention - how tired he looked, how worried. Peter had began to jump at almost any noise he hadn’t been expecting and had shifty, panicked eyes. Sirius supposed this was all just various physical signs of how he was being affected - like everyone - by the war. So he didn’t say anything, because he knew this was all hard for everyone, and Peter had always been heavily affected by things like this, and Peter really hated when people asked him about it. He got so much _more_ uncomfortable if anyone said anything - because them pointing it out meant they had _noticed_ , and he really just wanted to be able to fly under the radar. And it wasn’t like mentioning things would help - if Sirius said something, he wouldn’t have very many ways to help. What was he to say? “The war’s over, you don’t have to stress anymore?” “Do you want to come over and talk about it?”

            That last one was doubly bad, as Peter hated talking about his feelings and what bothered him and because Sirius would be so full of shit if he said it - he barely had time to _eat_. Pretending like seeing and listening and suggesting things to Peter was an option wouldn’t help anybody.

            Peter opened his door almost two minutes after Sirius had knocked. This was because, Sirius assumed, he’d checked who was behind the door thirty different ways and then had to unlock about fifteen different locks so he could open the door. That was just how things were.

            He didn’t say anything and didn’t even really open the door - only a crack, through which a sliver of Peter’s face, including an eye, was visible.

            “Wormtail, it’s me.” Sirius pulled his hands out of his jean’s pockets, where he’d shoved them a minute and a half ago. They hung at his sides, not tense but certainly not relaxed. His fingers twitched and the muscles and veins on the backs of his hands poked out from under his skin. “Let me in.”

            Peter’s eye scanned him slowly, not narrowing in suspicion but just... _checking_. He blinked (or, Sirius assumed he blinked. As he couldn’t see his other eye, for all he knew, Peter’d winked at him), and Sirius watched his eye as it shifted side to side, checking if Sirius was truly alone. It’d been three minutes since he knocked on the door. (And do you know how long a minute is? No, you don’t. It’s _so_ long when you’re waiting. An eternity. Painfully slow. You fool.)

            Finally, as Peter had apparently deemed it to really be Sirius, alone, the door opened more. Still not open wide, there was enough room for Sirius to squeeze inside. Peter hid behind the door as he did so and closed it immediately after, locking a multitude of locks and chains going up the frame and murmuring a spell Sirius didn’t quite catch that cast a faint blue light, hitting the door and causing it to glow for a second before it faded away.

            When Peter finally turned around, he looked at Sirius with an expression different than the one he’d had only seconds before. Sirius wondered if, while he was facing the door and busying himself, he’d given himself the time to fake a somewhat-believable ‘yeah, I’m totally okay, thanks for asking!’ look. It was pretty clearly fake - Sirius supposed that _maybe_ someone who didn’t know Peter and also was a bit dense wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between this and a honestly fine person.

            “What b-brings you here?” The stutter was subtle and quick, barely there, but still something that made Peter cringe. He was unhappy with himself for how obviously he was suffering. He was scared Sirius would say something - really scared. Even more, he was worried if Sirius did say something, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from spilling. Well, whatever it was he had to spill - these were all Sirius’ thoughts and observations, so he assumed what Peter was keeping from him was something about the war and how it had affected him, after seeing all that he’d seen and going through what he had been through. Sirius just didn’t know how right and incredibly wrong he was. He assumed Peter was upset because of the loss of members of the Order - their friends. Or because of the news about James and Sage and Harry. God knows Sirius was upset by the news - he had genuinely almost gone hysterical (luckily, James was there to assure him it would all be alright) - so it was only logical that Peter be affected, too.

            “I have something to ask you, Peter, but before I do, I need to tell you you can’t tell anyone but James or Sage. Got it?” Sirius spoke with an air of danger that caused Peter to take a step back. It didn’t help that how he was standing, with the light behind him, made him seem shadowy and broody.

            “I... I understand.” Peter held his hands together in front of him, almost wringing them. Sirius could almost see them shake. “What is it?”

            “Well, it’s about Voldemort being after them...” Sirius went on, telling Peter about the Charm that was to be cast in eight-and-a-half hours and his idea. Listening intently, Peter nodded along to what Sirius told him as if he were fine with it all, but the second Sirius stopped talking, Peter’s face lost what little colour it’d had and his eyes went wide. He stilled, shocked.

            “So, what do you think? James and Sage are fine with it, and because people will think it’s me, the information will be safer. Are you... are you up for it, Pete?” Sirius was sure to be as considerate as he could be - he knew how much he was asking, but he really was only giving the illusion of a choice - if Peter said no... he wouldn’t be okay with that answer. Peter had to say yes. This wasn’t debatable. But, still, it was nice to make him feel nice by giving him a ‘choice’.

            “I…” Peter seemed to consider, obviously anxious. His fidgeting hands stilled, one of them running through his short hair. “I’d be honoured, honestly, to help them in any way I can.”

            If everything wasn’t as serious and morbid, Sirius might’ve laughed - clapped his hands together, adopting a grin - but, this was serious and morbid. Still, it was a shimmer of hope - this was going to keep the Potters safe, and then they wouldn’t die. So he smiled, clapped Peter on the back (lightly, though, as it seemed that too much would knock him over), and said in a jovial manner (much like a somewhat drunk twenty-year-old yelling “aye, lads!” on an eventful Saturday night at a pub), “ah, mate, I knew I could count on you. They’ll be safe, we’ll all come out of this, everything will be sunshine and daisies.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Hey, mate,” said Sirius, quieter and soothing upon hearing how worriedly Peter responded. “They’ll be okay - this is what’ll keep them alive. It’s almost certain.”

            As Peter nodded, Sirius took his hand off his back slowly. Eight hours - just over - and the Potters would be safe, their fate in Peter’s hands.


	72. Seventy-Two

               Sage Potter couldn’t say she’d finally gotten the life she’d always wanted. Perhaps someone else could sit next to their beautiful spouse and say “oh, I’ve finally gotten the life I’ve always dreamed of!” but she hadn’t wanted this, what so many people seem to crave – the whole ‘husband-and-kid-settle-down’ thing. It used to, honestly, be _unappealing_. Looking at people living this kind of a life, she used to roll her eyes.

             _Too boring_ , she thought, age sixteen, her hair down and skirts short. _What do you do, sit at home all day? No-fucking-thanks._

             But here she was, and _fuck_ she was glad she was living this life. Of course, she could do without the war, the threats hanging over her family, and being stuck inside her house for months without end. But, overall, Sage didn’t want to lose this – the life she hadn’t wanted. The ideal life.

             She couldn’t say she wasn’t happy, but she couldn’t say she was, either. Worry and terror hung around too much for her to ever feel comfortable, therefore never letting her _truly_ live the ideal life. She got hints of it – just a taste – but never got to fully live like so many wanted. Like she wanted. Away from war.

             It wasn’t as if she was sad all the time – in fact, she smiled much more often than what one would expect somebody dealing with what she did to. James was just too charming, too funny, too… _amazing_ (not perfect, though. Not by far). And little Harry was a human smile machine, with grins more contagious than James’ laugh (James’ laugh, by the way, was so infectious it might as well’ve been a disease).

             Someone had once told Sage that “true love stories never end,” and she believed that, for a while. But as she aged, as she learned, she figured it was not. “There are no happy endings, because nothing ends,” someone else had once told her.

             That, she didn’t know about. Well, plainly and simply, she disagreed with the last part. Things end. She knew this. It was sad, and it was brutal, sometimes bordering on cruel to think, but things _end_. It was probably when she was twelve when she realized this – but this belief she did not grow out of.

             But “there are no happy endings”? Well, she just didn’t know.

             Sage Potter, née Charles, had a somewhat-happy beginning.

             She had a very, very happy middle.

             But she just didn’t know if she’d have a happy ending because she’d never seen one before. She supposed it was all subjective, what really counted as a “happy ending.” If she thought, wondering, she might ask herself the question, _what would be a happy ending for me?_ And most likely, she wouldn’t be able to give herself an answer.

             Whatever it meant for her, Sage hoped her ending would be happy and that it would come far from now. And for the first time in a while, she thought it really would.

             With the charm guarding their house, her ending seemed farther off than had in ages.

             And this made her irregularly happy – despite James and her both still being antsy and on edge from being cooped up so long. They were _safe_ , thanks to Peter and Dumbledore. They no longer had to charm the doors ten times a day just to feel a little more secure, no more peeking from behind curtains out into the empty dark, not again would they go into a full panic because they heard a bump in the night. A weight was off their backs, and their wands out of their pockets – they didn’t have to carry them on themselves at all times anymore, with the security of being unmappable.

             Sage was hopeful. She wanted to be with her son and husband for as long as she could, and now it was looking much more possible. She looked to the future – it was only 1981, almost ’82, as it was the very end of October, and she already loved the eighties. All the sadness she had over leaving the seventies was replaced by her premonition of how the culture of the eighties would turn out (like, come _on_! Take music - everyone knew synth-pop was going to be big since like ’77; it would be the music of the future for, like, _ever_ ). 1982 was coming soon, sure to be eventful, then 1983 and so on, year by year, day by day - she was looking forward to it.

             The eighties were sure to be lovely, and she would see all of them with James and Harry (and perhaps someone else!) as they went through the adventure together.  And, when they had seen all the 1980s had to offer, they’d move on to the 1990s! That would be around when Harry started Hogwarts – he’d be the age, in the 90s, where he’s turned into a person with his own ideas and opinions. Sage could hardly wait – she wanted to know what Harry would be like as a teenager, later on (she wasn’t quite looking forward to having a thirteen-year-old as much as a seventeen-year-old, but she was excited all the same), what his personality would be like. Would he be more like James or like her? Or would he forgo both of them and end up more like Sirius, or like Wendy? Oh, Sage was _so_ looking forward to seeing.

             And _Merlin_ , that wasn’t even to _mention_ that soon enough, it’d be the _turn of the fucking century_ , and it’d be 2000. Two-thousand! Two, zero, zero, zero! Sage had absolutely no _idea_ what that would be like (though, for some reason, she felt like everyone would be wearing metallic clothes made from plastic) but _damn_ , she wanted to see it. She wanted James to see it, with her. She wanted Harry to live through it – to _thrive_ through it.

             This was actually likely now, thanks to the charm. It gave her hope and made her happier, along with James. After only a week of it being cast, they were both feeling much, much safer – though, still not themselves. It was hard to be themselves with everything around them still happening.

             Harry didn’t know what was going on – he never did, really – and was unaware of everything from the war existing to the threat on his own life. He could, however, pick up on his parents’ feelings. Luckily, he didn’t understand complex feelings and really only picked up what they were putting down for him, which was mostly ‘happy’.

             Harry didn’t know it was Halloween, and there was no reason for him to think the 31st of October was different from the 1st of November or 30th of October, as James and Sage treated it like any other day. Well, save a bit of costumes they put on – James, a headband with a pair of antlers sticking out them, Harry in a onesie that resembled a dragon (complete with wings made from stiff fabric), and Sage with a Muggle’s stereotypical witch hat (courtesy of Wendy). It was no use for them to go all out for the holiday, as nobody would be visiting, and Harry wouldn’t remember his second Halloween just as much as he wouldn’t his first.

             So, on Halloween night – a night well-known to be spooky and unsettling, time for death—er, _the dead_ , rather, to knock on doors – Harry was playing with Cruikshanks, just as he might on any other night. James and Sage cleaned up from dinner – spaghetti and homemade tomato sauce that James put love into and Harry had tossed onto the ceiling – as the sun went down.

             Standing in the kitchen, the two adults finally got all the red off the ceiling and noodles off the floor when Cruikshanks, looking slightly miffed, ran into the room, closely followed by an ecstatic Harry, giggling wildly. Sage and James knew, based on how he was moving slow enough for Harry to keep up somewhat, that Cruikshanks was fine with having an excited toddler chase him. The cat could bolt, truly, if he needed or wanted to.

             James, grinning, took his index finger away from inches from Sage’s nose (he had been about to smear tomato sauce onto it, for no reason other than he could and he was twenty-one) and placed it into his mouth, sucking off the sauce quickly. He stepped away from right in front of Sage and swooped down to scoop up Harry, who let out a squeal upon realizing he’d been caught. Swung through the air, Harry made sounds of pure happiness that warmed Sage’s soul.

             After swinging Harry around for a second and bringing him in close only to pretend to take a bite out of his tummy, James held Harry normally, so the boy could see Sage and himself.

             “Naughty Harry,” said Sage, smiling wide and moving to tickle Harry. “Bullying the cat – poor kitty.”

             “You just made multiple innuendos there, lovely,” said James, cheeky.

             “Oh, hush, he’s one, not fourteen, he doesn’t know and-or care.” A roll of her eyes, dramatic and unnecessary, and Sage looked out the window. The sun had set completely, and it was dark outside, making her check the clock. The second she did, she moved to speak to Harry again. “Looks like it’s getting closer to someone’s bedtime, isn’t it?”

             Harry breathed heavy, recovering from the barrage of giggles he’d just been emitting.

             Sage addressed James, “I’ll take him—” and the two of them moved Harry from him to her. The baby happily went into Sage’s arms, though he seemed to want to move back to James just as much as he enjoyed being where he was.

             “Alright, we can play for a bit before we start getting ready for bed,” said Sage. She angled Harry’s head, hand over his ear, and stage-whispered comically, “and then, later, I think we can celebrate tonight’s holiday together… you understand?”

             A grin and a wink from James assured her he did, in fact, _not_ get what she was saying, so she told him. As if she was scolding him, she said, “Merlin, James, I was talking about…” she whispered this next bit – “ _candy._ ”

             Then, smiling, she hit his arm playfully, taking a hand off Harry for a second only to put it back. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

             Sage made a move to leave the kitchen but barely had taken a step before she realized she didn’t have her wand on her – she’d put it on the counter, like James, after they’d finished cleaning and were just messing around. She spotted it, a few inches from James’, and was about to grab it, when she decided not to and left the kitchen, heading into the living room.

             _Ah, I’ll be fine,_ she thought while she glanced at the long wood of her wand.

             This decision was not mirrored by James as he, himself left the kitchen, grabbing his wand and moving into the living room with Sage and Harry. If either of them bothered to look out the window, they would see what they thought they would – children in costumes walking down the street, out for Halloween night. They didn’t bother to draw the curtains closed as they sat down with Harry (who, perhaps, should’ve been in his pajamas but was not, and remained in the dragon onesie. This didn’t bother him, as it was quite comfortable), all three on the floor as James blew smoke rings from his wand Harry loved.

             As Harry laughed and tried to grab the smoke, Sage sighed lovingly and took off her witch’s hat. James kept on his not-antlers, but the black hat was gigantic and pretty annoying. She set it beside herself on the floor and smiled, watching Harry for a few seconds before she stood.

             “I’m going to go feed the cat,” she said, unaware there was a hooded man watching them through the window, slowly nearing the house.

             “Alright.” James stopped creating smoke for a second to yawn. As Sage left the room, he looked at Harry and told him frankly, “I think it’s quite time for me to go to bed – it’s most likely a safe bet you need to, too, isn’t it?”

             Harry, of course, said nothing, but was somewhat disappointed by the sudden lack of things to try to grab. Stretching his long limbs, James groaned as he felt joints crack, then placed his wand onto the ground beside him. How could he feel so old? He was twenty-one, not eighty. He shouldn’t get such a strong ‘ _getting old_ ’ thought from his back cracking, but he did.

             The second James was done stretching, he wrapped his arms around Harry, picking the baby up and making him laugh. “Let’s go get you in pajamas, yeah?”

             So James began to begin the trek to bring Harry upstairs and prepare him for bed, but didn’t make it to the hallway before Sage walked back into the living room.

             “Did you move the cat’s bowl somewhere? I can’t find it,” she said, standing in the doorway.

             “I might be able to find it,” shrugged James. At that moment, the hooded figure watching him through the living room window opened the gate. Neither of the Potters heard the creak nor noticed a man walk closer.

             “Here,” Harry was passed from James to Sage, “take him, get him in his pajamas, and I’ll go look for it, alright?”

             “Yeah, alright.”

            And green met hazel for the final time. Had Sage known this was the last time she would really talk to her husband, she might’ve said something else, cried, kissed him, told him how much she loved him. But she didn’t know. So she simply turned around and started to head upstairs, speaking gibberish to Harry as she did so.

             James, unaware that the hooded man was getting closer and closer to the front door, left the living room (and, if recalled, his wand) and stepped into the hall and then to the kitchen. He began to look for the cat’s bowl, _sure_ he knew where it was – in the cabinet next to the sink. It was not there, but he didn’t learn this, because before he could get closer to the cabinets and see it for himself, James was interrupted.

             Someone had blown the front door down.

             James knew who this someone was – he was certain. He could feel it in his bones, he knew.

             Voldemort had found them, finally—but… James had a sudden thought – _what’s happened to Peter?_

             Even as he sprinted back into the hall, his trust in Peter didn’t falter. He believed in Peter, wholeheartedly. Even when all things pointed toward his untrustworthiness, James ignored – he really, truly thought something happened to Peter.

             But he didn’t have the time to worry about it. Voldemort had crossed the threshold and was inside of his _house._ _To kill Harry_.

             The thought ‘ _and anyone who stands in his way_ ’ either didn’t enter his mind or didn’t matter to him at all. He wasn’t busy trying not to think of what death would be like – he didn’t consider it, even though he knew he was going to die this night. All thoughts were condensed and shouted up the stairs, where he knew Sage would be listening after the blowing in of their door.

             “Sage, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”

             James didn’t know where his wand was, but he knew it wasn’t on him. He was wandless, staring down Voldemort’s wand, pointed right at him. He knew he was going to die.

             There was a laugh, a cackle, and a flash of green. Instantly, the thoughts of _oh, God, please let them get out of here, please, please,_ were gone. Nothing replaced them. James did not hear, nor did he feel, his body hit the floor.

             Sage did.

             A dull, heavy **_thud_** amongst the cackling turned her absolutely hysterical. She’d left the nursery, Harry on her hip – she hadn’t been able to do anything there, as she’d only stepped in before she heard the door blasted down. So she moved back into the hall, a step away from reaching the stairs before she heard James’ voice, his pleading, panicked and frantic.

             She’d looked at Harry in her arms and tried not to seem as terrified as she was as she ran back into the nursery. The _thud_ was heard just as she stepped back inside, and green light flashed behind her, visible through the corners of her eyes.

             A second before, she’d been thinking coherently – _I don’t have my wand, but he must, he’ll be okay. Harry and I can try to hide in his room, barricade in… climb out the window... run to Sirius…_

             Sage, unlike James – whose trust didn’t falter even when his body’s strings were cut and he fell like a limp marionette – _knew_. It was a shock she didn’t have time to dwell on, but she knew – Peter betrayed them. Sweet, lovely Peter, was the reason she was a widow (though, she didn’t think of this – the _thud_ turned her manic. Plus, she wouldn’t be a widow for long).

             Sage threw the door closed, still holding Harry, unaware she was sobbing, but vividly noticed how upset Harry was beginning to look. Anything she could find was stacked against the door – boxes, the rocking chair, _anything_ , in attempts to barricade inside.

             Her thoughts kept moving back to James as she worked panicked. James, the love of her life, was at the bottom of the stairs. Dead.

             She knew no matter _what_ , she had to keep Harry safe. A glance around the room for anything that could be a weapon only distressed her further – along with there being nothing, there was also the matter of the nursery itself. Seeing it in this moment – the worst of her life – was like someone had reached into her gut and started pulling out whatever they could grab. Vision fogged, she could still see the poster on the wall – Magical _‘A to Z’_ – and the mural, _that mural_ Sirius spent _months_ painting…

             There was nothing left to stack. And, as it turned out, the barricade didn’t matter. Voldemort cleared the path with almost no effort and was inside of the nursery.

             Sage turned just enough to put Harry in his crib, her back against it. When she did this, in the split second, she saw the mobile above – a cruel mockery, now. The mobile, with the dog, wolf, rat, doe, fawn, and stag all chasing each other and moving around as if nothing were wrong, was a symbol that burned into Sage’s eyelids for the next minute while she still lived. She didn’t even think why it bothered her so much – she didn’t have the time – but she knew it did.

             Of course, the reason was that the Marauders, as of about two minutes before, were dead. The rat was a traitor – turned black and withered on the mobile, barely hanging on its tattered string. The stag had done nothing but gone still, its string cut. It was dead, and Sage knew it was not the only animal to die tonight. She just had to keep the fawn up there, keep it safe.

             Sage faced Voldemort and threw her arms to either side of her, gripping onto the crib’s railing to show the evil man she was not going to move. Her knuckles began to turn white and she did the only thing she could think to do – talk.

             “Please, no, not Harry—”

             “Move aside, girl! Stand aside, foolish girl…”

             “No! No, not Harry! Please, don’t take Harry, kill me instead!”

             “I warn you once more…”

             “Non-no, please! I’m begging you—have mercy! Have mercy, please! Please, not Harry!”

             “I said, stand aside!”

             “Please, please, kill me instead—” Sage couldn’t tell he could barely understand her through her sobbing - her mind was rid of anything but how much Harry needed to live. She could see him, age 11, going to school… 13, riding a broom… 16, winning the cup for his House… 17, getting a watch as he came of age… But her mind seemed to zoom out, and she couldn’t see who was giving him the watch. It should’ve been James, but he couldn’t be doing that - he was too busy being dead downstairs.

             “Idiot girl, move aside!”

             Sage could barely see him raise his wand. The last thing she saw was a hooded figure and the tip of his wand as he stood in the doorway of her son’s nursery.

             Behind her, Harry did not cry as he stood up and wobbled to grab the bars of his crib. He reached out a hand to grab the fabric of her un-tucked shirt, wanting to pull on it so she’d turn around and give him kisses like she did every night before he slept. He hoped after she’d done so, his father would come in and read him a story – he did that sometimes, and Harry didn’t understand all the words, but he loved it.

             Before he could grab her shirt, though, a green light flashed, and suddenly mum’s shirt wasn’t right where he could grab – she’d fallen down and out of sight.

             Sage did not hear, nor did she feel, her body fall to the ground.

             Harry did.

 

 

 

 

_Sage,_

_I don’t think this is going to help me. Writing to you doesn’t change you and James being dead. I mean, I keep feeling like you’re just away at school and sometimes I’ll remind myself to write you, but… yeah. I guess I think maybe finally writing will help, but I don’t have a lot of hope._

_I don’t have to tell you how much I love you, here. You know. You know exactly how much I miss you, too. But just in case, I’ll say it. Sage Potter (not writing Charles was an issue here, as always), I miss you. Too much. You weren’t supposed to be the one who died in this war._

_Speaking of the war, it’s stopped. I don’t think its over (a lot of people do), though - just paused. That night, when you died, something happened with Harry and he lived and Voldemort disappeared. Nobody’s heard or seen him since. So people are celebrating, because the war’s stopped and peace has come back. It’s nice (it’d be nicer if you hadn’t had to die in order for it, though). I wish you could live in it again - peace, I mean._

_So much has happened, I don’t think I can really fit it all in one letter. While everyone celebrates, there’s the pocket of people who think about you and James and Harry and aren’t as happy._

_You know I’ve never been the best at words - and feelings, for that matter. I hope Harry turns out better, more like you._

_Harry’s good, by the way. He’s very talkative but not as happy as he used to be (I think that’s because James isn’t there to make him laugh). I don’t know if he knows what’s happened or not, but he very frequently asks for you. Both of you. I’ve been teaching him more French, but for some reason every time I say a verb, he sneezes. It’s very strange and I hope he grows out of it._

_I know I’m not his godfather, and I know I’m not your first choice for who to raise him, but this is what Dumbledore said to do. After Sirius was arrested, he couldn’t quite take in Harry and even though he should’ve gone to Wendy, Dumbledore decided for us that he’s mine now. It was really weird - he just left Harry and a note for me to find and didn’t talk to me about it. Dumbledore is strange._

_More on both Sirius and Wendy - alright, so when Peter confronted Sirius, he killed about thirteen people, and Peter. Then, he was arrested. Then sent to Azkaban. Nobody seemed to disagree with this - everyone saw him as horrible and didn’t care if he rotted there. Enter, Wendy._

_Wendy, ever the fair Hufflepuff, is absolutely furious he didn’t get a trial - a real one. She says “no matter if he’s guilty or not, he needs a fair trial!” and such. She’s gotten very good at debating. Not a lot of people are listening to her, but she keeps saying that even if he is guilty, he needs to be judged. She’s calling for Truth potions and such. I talked to her yesterday and she said she’s putting all the credibility she’s earned so far on the line. If he’s guilty, people will shun her and such, but if he’s not… I don’t know what she thinks. Honestly, I think she thinks him guilty, which makes her more noble, if anything (a tad dumb, but noble)._

_So Wendy’s pushing hard for that, trying to get him out of prison and into Wizengamot. It’s taking a lot of work and it’s already been a few weeks. I have a feeling it’ll end up longer before she finally gets him judged._

_If Sirius is guilty, which he most definitely is, I will probably bribe my way into getting a few minutes with him before he goes back to Azkaban. What I will do is something I don’t want to tell you._

_Anyway, back to Harry. I hope I’m doing good by you in raising him. Merlin knows you’d be better (and you were) at it than I am. I mean, I helped raise you. But to be fair, I wasn’t doing much before mum died, and by then you were about 12 and didn’t need very much._

_By the way, I like to imagine you and James with her, and of course James’ parents. Dad’s somewhere far away from you all. Maybe all the people who’ve died, all your friends, are with you, too._

_This isn’t helping me. I knew it wouldn’t - it’s not a ‘write this and let go’ thing as much as ‘focus on the sad stuff.’_

_I guess I should finish this, though. So I miss you. Harry’s doing okay, although he cries a lot more which may be because he misses you or because I have no idea what I’m doing._

_August_

_Wish you were here._


	73. Epilogue

            Wendy Greene didn’t know why her first thought was _maybe they’re okay_. They very obviously were not. She’d been told about five seconds before that they were dead, so that was out of the way. But when she apparated outside of the Potter’s house, onto the street that was empty for the night, she took one look at their house - destroyed - and thought _they’re probably fine_.

            Wendy knew she was wrong and they were indeed very not okay, but her stupidly hopeful thoughts were all that kept her frozen - and she was. Frozen right outside of the gate, looking through the dark at the house where it seemed something had exploded in Harry’s nursery. She didn’t move, not even caring about her lack of any kind of coat (she really, literally, had apparated to the Potters almost the second she was told they were dead).

            It had been a few hours since what had happened happened. Harry was gone, as was Sirius and anyone else.

            Her eyes flickered to the gate in front of her. She could push it open and go forward - walk into the house, see them… say goodbye…

            Wendy’s face began to tingle as she cried - suddenly devoid of all the hope she had seconds before. Her best friend was dead. Their home, once a symbol of prosperity (they could make it as adults - they really could!), was destroyed.

            After a tragedy, the air wherever it had occurred changed for a while. For a few hours, the place where someone died was different in a way Wendy didn’t know how to describe. It didn’t make the air thick, but it made it feel like it was. There was nothing in the empty space of the air - but something made it seem laced with dust. Lights seemed to hang around and sounds were ever-so-slightly muffled. There was no emotion.

            The gate felt frozen under her fingertips as they gently touched it, not applying any pressure, simply testing to see… did she really want to do this?

            Her eyes flickered up - she could see what used to be their front door - nothing stood there, anymore, just an empty doorway. If she looked - if she tried - she could see… a leg? There was something on the floor of the hallway - mostly obscured. James? Sage?

            Usually, even a hint of a dead body made her nauseous - but this did not make her stomach churn. This made her cry even more.

            The hand whose fingers weren’t grazing the gate moved over her mouth - she really didn’t want people to hear her gross-sobbing, and if she were honest, she really couldn’t handle the sound, either.

            It wasn’t as cold, now that she’d been touching it for some time. The gate wasn’t warming under her fingers, but it wasn’t as cold. She was fully capable of pushing it, walking forward, going inside…

            Every time she had opened the gate, she had the thought, _ugh, please don’t squeak_ , or something similar. She knew it made a noise - not loud, but annoying - and thought of it doing so every time she saw it.

            So while she considered opening it, her mind reminded her, _it’s going to creak_ , as it always did. And, for some reason, this decided for her. The debate she wasn’t really having of ‘forward or back’ was ended when she remembered the gate creaked.

            Her fingers left the gate, no longer touching its cold surface, and clenched into a fist. Wendy took a step back, shoes hitting the paved street.

            She regretted not going inside. Already, she had the image of their house - lit up and missing chunks of wall - in her head with a feeling of ‘ _if I could’ve’_ imbued around it. She should’ve gone inside, should’ve seen Sage, said goodbye… she’d just look like she was asleep…

            Even while she regretted not advancing, Wendy took one look at the gate and couldn’t. She just… _couldn’t_.

            The feelings of missing Sage told her, _well, if you go inside, you can see her_. As if she would be hanging out with her best friend again.

            But there would be no other time she got to hang with Sage. They’d never again sleep together - falling into exhaustion after hours of talking about petty, dumb stuff. No more laughing, no more confiding, no more hugs… Never again, would she get to listen to the Monkees with Sage.

            Wendy knew this was her only chance. If she didn’t walk in now, she would never. This was the one time where she’d be in this moment - the night her best friend, her platonic soulmate, died. She could see this moment - she could _feel_ it, something she should do, something she felt in her palm, waiting to be gripped on tight. But she could feel her fingers slipping. She’d never get this chance again. If, in the future, she wanted another try - when she was stronger and healed - to say goodbye, she couldn’t. Just like how there was no way for her to go back to when Sage was alive.

            She couldn’t go inside and see her. It would be saying goodbye, perhaps bring her _some_ closure, but she couldn’t.

            That fucking gate would squeak if she so much as tried.

 

            Sirius Black was a murderer. Wendy hadn’t known this hours before, but she knew it now. She wouldn’t have believed it earlier. She thought she knew him - really, she did. They’d hung out before. He was nice - a good person. At least, Wendy had thought he was a good person.

            But then the Potters turned up dead and there was only one way that could’ve been possible - him. He hadn’t killed them, but they were dead because of him. He murdered them.

            Wendy heard of 1 November’s events secondhand. She was glad of this, as they were all horrific. If she had gotten to the Potter’s only moments earlier, would she have run into him? Hagrid said he was there, asking for Harry... If she’d ran into him, what would he have done? Killed her, too?

            What happened next, she didn’t have to hear from Hagrid - _everyone_ was talking about it. “Sirius Black killed a dozen Muggles when Peter Pettigrew confronted him on the street. Poor boy, so upset by Sage and James, thought he could take on their betrayer himself. By the time Sirius was done, Peter had been blown to pieces - the biggest thing they could find of him was his finger.”

            Sirius didn't last long before he was cornered and taken in.

            “I heard,” Wendy was told in a hushed whisper that meant nothing (this ‘secret’ was not going to stay quiet) over a fruity drink with a higher alcohol content than a whole bottle of firewhiskey, “when they got to him, he was _laughing_. _Laughing_! Can you believe that? As if we all didn’t think he was mad.”

            Wendy had thousands of questions - she must’ve, considering her world had just collapsed around her - but one, very loud, asked “ _why_?” It wasn't directed at the world, the universe, in an arms-thrown-open shout to the heavens. She wanted to ask _him_ \- Sirius - _why?_

            She figured the best way to get her question answered would be the trial, his trial, that would surely send him straight to prison for the rest of his life. If she could find a way to sit in, to hear how he answered their questions... she was scared to hear what he would say, but she needed to. She figured it wouldn’t be long - Wizengamot trials always were - but whatever was said... she needed this.

            “They’re sending him straight to Azkaban,” she was told, the same fruity drink drained more and more. “Good riddance.”

            “I'm sure they will.” Wendy sipped her drink, “do you know when his hearing is scheduled for?”

            “Wh...Wha’d’ya mean?”

            “His hearing? With Wizengamot? Do you know when it’s scheduled?”

            “What? They already decided - well, at least Barty Crouch did. He said something about how he doesn't deserve a trial and is sending him right to Azkaban. You didn’t hear this?”

            Wendy had very certainly _not_ heard this, and was not at all okay with it. But, as she had just consumed an awful lot of alcohol, she couldn’t really come up with a good argument past the basics.

            “Wh-- they can’t... he can’t _do_ that! What kind of... everyone gets a trial! That's just fair!”

            “What? S... so you’re thinking... you’re saying-- you’re _defending_ him?”

            “No! I’m just... it doesn’t matter if he's guilty or not, he can’t just be _sent_ _off_.  Everyone gets a trial! That’s like... the _basics_ of the rules. There’s, like, a _whole thing_ there - about why they can’t do that! No matter who they are, justice has to be served through a trial!” Wendy didn’t know why she was getting so angry - she really wasn’t an angry person-- her emotions were more sad, cold and inward, unlike this fire that was bursting out of her. Her mother had always told her that anger was bad - that nothing but negativity could come from being angry.

            “ _Nobody wins if you act upon anger. You won’t be logical - if you have a fire in you, you have to ignore it and get rid of it. People will be burned if you don’t._ ”

            She was raised on this, and for so long she held it close to her and treated it like gospel. Her mother was right, in a way, to tell her this - she’d told it to younger Wendy, before she came out, when they thought she was a boy. Her mother had looked at her and saw her possible future, and knew she could not be angry, could not be violent.

            “ _Don’t give them a reason_.”

            But Wendy was not a man and she was not a thug. She listened to her mother and had a heart of gold which she could feel being touched by the flame of anger. Would her heart melt, if the fire got to hot? What would be revealed? Would her whole, solid gold heart melt into nothing but liquid metal, or would she learn her heart was only gold-plated?

            Her mother was right for one situation. But - and Wendy would _never_ say this to her mother’s face - she had been wrong, too.

            Wendy was slowly coming to learn what she needed to, what she still wasn’t quite ready to know. She needed anger. As much as she hated it, the way if felt as it _burned_ inside of her, an uncontrollable fire that erased all other feeling but worry over wondering if it would never go out. As much as she tried to erase her fury - and she _did_ get furious, though scarcely ever - she was beginning to know she _needed_ it.

            She was slowly coming to know anger wasn’t all too different from passion. To be _angry_ could also mean being _spirited_.

            What else, if not angry, were protesters? If not furious, what were those few who fought for the people’s rights, just like her? If it was not rage that motivated movements, what was it? People did not riot because they were sad. They were _angry_. And that got things done. It was brutal and ugly, and nobody liked being that angry - the anger that wasn’t a choice but a need, based on the knowledge that things will continue if not for their intervention - but things _happened_. Things _changed_.

            Wendy’s mother had been right about anger when it came to a few things - it wasn’t necessary to be angry at the drop of a hat. There’s no need to shout at the man who cut you off. Nothing good comes from throwing punches at the girl who made snide comments about your hair. No benefit will come to anyone from tripping the person who just told you to shut up (though, all of those things may _feel_ good, for an instant, to do).

            But the deeper anger, that which stems from hatred of injustice and transforms into a passion to fight for what is right? As Wendy was beginning to learn, this was good.

            And it was what she felt when she heard Sirius was not given his due process. He might be a murderer - and she truly did think him guilty - but he was still a human. There was nothing more - she was not thinking ‘ _but what about the kind boy I met at school_?’ and was not focused on the possibility of his innocence (or, moreover, the _hope_ of his innocence). She did not care what he had done, and she knew he would most likely face the same fate regardless of his trial (it was likely the court would come to the same conclusion as Barty).

            She knew the risks, she knew what he had done, and she couldn’t really think about just him, as a person and an idea, without becoming upset.

            But she could feel a fire, deep in her stomach, ignite. Sirius would get a trial, no matter what he’d done.

 

            Wendy soon discovered she was alone in her anger. She was the only one, seemingly, bothered by the lack of rights allotted to Sirius. It didn’t take long for her to hear people arguing against her (usually repeating the same thing as someone before them) - but even worse, she wasn’t _argued_ with, she was _pitied_ and _laughed at_. Nobody was taking her seriously - no pun intended - in her quest to ensure there would be no abuse of power. In fact, when she said the words ‘abuse of power’ in reference to Barty Crouch, she was scoffed at.

            Nobody seemed to care, one way or the other. Sirius Black was seen as the worst of the worst - worth less than the bugs burrowed underground.

            “He’s terrible, deserved what he got,” they said.

            And when Wendy asked, “but what if he’s innocent? And even if not, who do we become, as a society of people, if we damn people to prison without showing them justice? What is to keep us from progressing to forgetting the courts altogether? What kind of empathy is this - what kind of justice? And what keeps this from where, one day, you or I could be thrown into prison without any hope of justice?”

            She must’ve said her speech a hundred times, revised and rewritten almost each time she told it. Nobody seemed to listen, and nobody seemed to care.

            The only time she was heard was when she asked, “but what if he is innocent?” and she did not like this. It played to empathy, she supposed, to horror - though people quickly decided this impossible. But the issue there was that it did not _matter_ if he was innocent or not. He still deserved a trial, and she was _going to get him one_.

 

            The Minister of Magic was a logical woman - Wendy had known this months ago but only after working alongside her, she understood. A wise, logical, mindful woman, who would _listen_ to her. At least, Wendy _hoped_ she would listen.

            Wendy was out of her position, as Loretta came back to work, but she was able to make an appointment with the Minister under the guise of ‘discussing futures’ (Wendy’s in particular. The Minister seemed excited to do this - when Wendy had left, she’d told her happily, while shaking her hand quite aggressively, “contact me later and we can talk about _options_.” She said this like it was a present she’d just untied the bow atop of).

            But when Wendy sat down in her office, the friendly, business-professional smile faded and she told her argument, the best version she’d come up with thus far. She was interrupted when she began, the Minister putting up a hand to stop her from continuing before she’d even started her points.

            “Ms. Greene, please. You’ve made an impact here - you did a good job and your actions won’t soon be forgotten. Perhaps, even, there may be a spot for you on our team.”

            Wendy couldn’t stop the rush of excitement, of hope, when she heard this - there was a chance for her, a real chance! But she stifled this, as she had something to do.

            “But if you don’t stop this… I’ve heard you’ve been going different places, trying to speak on behalf of Sirius Black. If you keep this up, the spot could disappear. Barty Crouch made his decision and people agree with it - all the credibility you’ve built to this point can vanish and you’ll lose, possibly, all chance of gaining a position within the Ministry.”

            “With all due respect, Minister, I know how much I can screw up my chances with this, but if I’m honest, I’m throwing all my grief into fighting for what’s right, and this _is_ right. If I go down fighting for justice, so be it. If this all ends with him getting the exact same sentence as he has been assigned now, this still won’t be a waste of my time, although I know I’ll be discredited wholly and totally.”

            “If you get this - his trial - you will be hoping for his innocence, correct?”

            Wendy said nothing. To say no was a lie, but to say yes implied she was only doing this because she believes he was innocent (which she was not and she did not).

            “And if he is not, which I think we all know he is not, nothing will change. You will lose all hope in having a future here, and you think that is not a waste of your time?”

            “No, it is not.” Perhaps, Wendy thought, she was a fool. For all she paraded seeing logic around, she was not thinking, really, truly, about how she could (and most likely would) ruin her future. Her arguments were all logical, based on fact and written to persuade, and it infuriated her when people wouldn’t listen. But she wasn’t listening to herself, her inner self, who said _you’re ruining your chances. Why? Because you don’t want to think about being sad?_

            When Millicent was silent for a few seconds (most likely surprised and trying to process things), Wendy started up her argument again. This time, she continued on until she was done, and looked at the Minister think.

            After what seemed an eternity, she opened her mouth and said slowly, “I agree that he should have a trial, but… Barty Crouch will not be happy. He won’t care, he’ll give a trial but he won’t actually judge impartially as he is supposed to. And I’m sure Sirius will _claim_ innocence, but if, theoretically, this is true, we’d have to use truth serum on him, and that will take time… You know Wizengamot trials are traditionally quick and concise…”

            “I’ll work it out.”

  
            Barty Crouch was not one to budge lightly. He saw Wendy’s argument, her logic, and countered with the fact that he was stubborn and thought Sirius deserved nothing less than to burn in the hot fires of Hell.

            So time passed - not long, really, only about a month - and Wendy developed a new strategy - to annoy him until he gave in.

            This, remarkably, actually worked. Most likely because she was smart about it - she wasn’t an annoying sibling, poking his cheek for no reason and saying “I’m not touching you!” because she was using a pencil. No, she was smarter - if she was outright obnoxious, he’d just kick her out and ban her from entry, ensuring he never saw her again (Wendy actually had a plan if he did this - go to the Prophet. “ _Crouch Abuses Position_ ” sounded really nice as a headline).

            So she was subtle. She was the kid in class who kept shaking her leg, and upon being glared at, asked, “what? I’m not doing anything.”

            And it fucking _worked_. Barty Crouch gave in on 29 November, not a month after Sirius had been sentenced in the first place, and begrudgingly set a court date for early December. Wendy was, honestly, shocked she’d gotten this done so fast.

            But then it occurred to her, as she remembered what the Minister said - Barty could practically ignore the trial itself and just give him the same sentence without giving him a real chance. Perhaps he’d only agreed to get her to leave him alone, and the trial would end up lasting all of five seconds before he came out and said “well, did what you wanted me to! I gave him a trial! He’s going to prison.”

            So Wendy took the knowledge that anyone on trial could bring legal representation (but, for some reason, wizard lawyers didn’t really exist? The magic community confused the fuck out of her, sometimes) and decided she was going to be there. _In_ there, with Sirius. And she would represent the man who killed her best friend.

  
            Sage’s birthday came as it always did on 30 November. It was cold and had already began to snow on the day Wendy’s best friend would’ve turned twenty-two. Wendy still had a hard time with that - she was _twenty-one_ when she died. She was _so young_.

            It was, possibly, Wendy supposed, a cruel sort of irony to have the statue unveiled on Sage’s birthday. The ceremony was small - _really_ small - and didn’t really have anything to it other than ‘ _look at this statue we’re putting outside of the still destroyed Potter cottage. Isn’t it sad?’_    

            Which meant that they - Wendy, Remus, August, and a thoroughly-bundled-up Harry - were just standing (or, in Harry’s case, being held) in the freezing cold as it snowed lightly, staring at a statue of Sage and James holding a bundle - Harry - in their arms. They looked at him, happy.

            Wendy thought about how the metal the statue was formed from was probably freezing even more than the air or snow. She wasn’t going to test this theory, and only stared at the metal (partially to keep herself from glancing at their house. She just… couldn’t.) and wondered.

            Everyone present knew it was Sage’s birthday, save Harry and the Ministry man who had executed the ceremony. If he did know, he didn’t mention it. Just said something about how sad it all was.

            She would’ve been twenty-two.

            It had been thirty days since, and Wendy wished she would start actually feeling like Sage was really gone. It hurt even more when she had to remind herself that, _no, she isn’t busy tomorrow, she’s dead._

            Twenty-two.

  
            When Wendy walked out onto the floor of Wizengamot and declared herself Sirius’ legal representation, she could practically _feel_ Barty’s eyes roll. He had very obviously been about to rush the trial, and when she walked out, he’d groaned (though subtly and quietly). Of _course_. He couldn’t get a break, ever, could he?

            Wendy walked out, declared herself, and _then_ looked at Sirius. The man she almost certainly knew killed her best friend and her husband and thirteen other people. He had never looked so _hollow_. He seemed genuinely surprised to see her there, face scruffy and clothes incredibly dirty.

            She leaned in, hiding her lips from the court, and whispered to him where he could whisper back, cheek to cheek, as if they were French people exchanging a frozen greeting.

            “ _What are you doing?_ ” he asked, before she could say anything.

            “ _If I wasn’t here, you wouldn’t be getting a real trial - just, fucking, I don’t know - go along with it._ ” She hated to seem so cold, but when she pulled away, all she could see was a murderer. There was no empathy in her, but she knew she had to be fair.

            So she turned to address all of Wizengamot, ignoring the pounding in her chest, and spoke, a lot less self-assured than she had been when she walked in and asserted herself (that was due to all the pep-talks she gave herself just outside of the room).

            “I request a sidebar with Mr. Black, as we had no time to discuss his case before this trial when he was unjustly imprisoned.”

            And so it began.

            It was a fight, really, to convince Barty _anything_ , but every time he tried to dismiss her (at multiple points, he just… _declared it all over_ , and tried to send her off) she said something about abuse of power or the justice system failing that made him groan but let her continue (at one point, she almost suggested pressing charges against _him_ for obstruction of justice).

            Sirius, as was assumed he would, claimed innocence. Barty tried to say something along the lines of “alright, he’s lying, send him off, case closed” but Wendy was _not having it_. As time went on and he tried to explain himself, Barty dismissed him as lying.

            So Wendy called for truth serum and hoped for the best.

            It had occurred to her, mid-trial, exactly how much her whole life was dependent on the innocence of a man she almost swore was guilty. And she really did think him guilty. This panicked her, as if she was right, she was doomed. Where would she go on? She’d be unable to get a job anywhere else...

            Sirius drank the Veritaserum and Wendy knew she shouldn’t - Barty got to ask the first questions - but she couldn’t help herself. Her best friend was dead, and her coping skill had been defending Sirius’ human rights, and she was pretty much done with that. There was only so much she could take.

            “Did you give them up? To him?” She instantly felt ashamed, as if she were a child who had just stolen from a cookie jar in front of a hundred strict mothers. The whole of Wizengamot stared down at them, curiosity taking hold over their need for her to follow rules.

            “No.”

            Murmurs, hushed, overtook the room. People sat forward on their seats and spoke quietly to neighbours, something unnotable on its own but amplified with how many voices there were. Barty called for order and all went silent. Wendy could feel her heartbeat push her blood through her hands that moved to her chin, covering her mouth only slightly.

            “Were you the Potter’s secret keeper?” Barty Crouch’s voice, firm and deep, boomed through the silent room. Nobody made a peep, all attention on Sirius Black.

            “No. I was supposed to be, but we changed it at the last moment on my suggestion that it would be too obvious that it was me.”

            “Who did you change it to?”

            “Peter Pettigrew.”

            And the silence was broken - no longer speaking in hushed murmurs, the voices were loud enough that Barty couldn’t just say his command for order - he had to shout multiple times for them to quiet.

            “Peter Pettigrew is dead. You killed him.” Speaking over the continued hushed murmurs, Barty loomed over Sirius.

            “No I didn’t. He was made secret keeper. On the 31st, I went to check on him, at his hiding place, and he wasn’t there. So I went to the Potters’ and saw what he’d done and went to find him. When I did, he blew up the street after yelling that I’d done what he had, and he probably--”

            Sirius had the floor, wholly and totally, but seemed to fight himself with what he said next. Choosing his words carefully, certainly, to keep secret something that would lead to a multitude of things being revealed.

            “--ran off.”

            “...he is obviously lying,” said Barty, realizing that, perhaps, what Sirius had been saying through his trial was true, and that he had made a grave error. Wendy narrowed her eyes at him, suddenly filled with a fire in her, and placed her hand on Sirius’ shoulder in a sign of solidarity.

            “Sir, I must remind the court that Mister Black is under the influence of Veritaserum and, in fact, is incapable of lying in his current state. But if we must, we can confirm the truth of his statements in other ways. I suggest reviewing his memories, if he consents to this, but I find it unnecessary to go further. This trial has lasted long enough, hasn’t it? Mister Black is innocent.”

            “I will decide his innocence, Ms. Greene, thank you.” Barty Crouch’s face was turning red ever-so-slightly. He pointed to Sirius and asked, “have you ever sworn your loyalty to the Dark Lord and/or any of his supporters?”

            “No.” Sirius’ frank voice came sharp, frustrating Barty further. Still, he was a level-headed man - just very aggressive in his pursuits - so he only scowled and questioned further.

            “Do you share any views, morals, ideas, or otherwise agree with the Death Eater Organization?”

            “No.”

            “May I remind us all that Sirius fought against the Death Eaters, valiantly, during the war,” said Wendy. She didn’t reference the Order on purpose, as the Ministry viewed it as a renegade organization and that wouldn’t aid toward Sirius’ case. But Barty caught on to this.

            “And where did he fight? I don’t recall him being an Auror with the Ministry.”

            At this time, a man in the back of the room stood, instantly taking the floor and all attention. He spoke loudly, not moving from his spot, white hair standing out.

            “Sirius was one of the most accomplished members of the Order of the Phoenix. I testify toward this and urge the council to take his nobility into account. He risked his life, regularly, to aid the resistance.” With that, Dumbledore sat back down.

            Wendy could’ve cried - he hadn’t said much, but that would aid their case _immensely_. She squeezed Sirius’ shoulder, looking right at Crouch.

            “Sirius Black is innocent. I recommend he be cleared of all charges and the Ministry order a formal apology for their mistreatment of him in handling his case and throwing him into Azkaban. And, Mr. Crouch, I believe you have someone else to find.”

            Wendy had never, in her entire life, at any moment, felt as powerful, as confident, as she did then. This whole trial had been a dream, and went so amazingly for her (actually, _eerily_ good. This was like an actual dream, as in she felt like she was going to wake up at any point and learn she overslept and missed the hearing) and for Sirius. Her heart beat heavy from nerves related to all those watching her, all that was at stake - especially now that she knew he was innocent - and the possibility of failure. But she was feeling power, now, more and more, replacing the nerves (but not making them totally vanish).

            If this was what it felt like to defend people - no matter who they were or what they had done, just ensuring they got their basic rights as humans - perhaps she could do this for the rest of her days. But that was something to think about later, when this was over and done with, and she’d talked to the Minister about her career again (she was sure that Millicent would want to talk after all this). For now, she had to make sure that Sirius, the man who _hadn’t_ killed her best friend, got exactly what he deserved and justice was served.

  
            There weren’t as many lights hung inside of the cottage as there had been years ago when Sage had lived there, but there were enough that they could light up rooms at night by themselves. In the kitchen, they hung from the ceiling in icicle-like strips, fairy lights shining white through the dark of night. A hand touched them, raking across the strips and making them shiver. Hot cocoa was held in an overfilled mug in the other hand, too hot to be sipped. Still, there was a line of cream - the same cream sitting on top of the cocoa - above a lip that showed that this had been checked.

            The fairy lights were white and warming. They turned the cottage homey again, aided by how cozy the place was. For the past months - _years_ \- it’d been nothing but a very dark, abandoned building in France. But the war was over and it was full of life again.

            Harry was living in Sage’s old room, confused by the change and missing his parents but happy he got to see his uncle and Padfoot more often. August was struggling with raising Harry, and wanted to give him to his godfather who could surely do a better job than him. But Dumbledore stopped this, saying Harry needed to stay with August.

            Rather than defy Dumbledore and surely see things work out horribly, they agreed. August wanted to give Harry his best chance, and thought that would be with Sirius, but had to admit that he was happy with keeping Harry. Living alone, without the light Harry brought with him, wasn’t something that appealed to him.

            Sirius was glad that Harry would be close to family - he needed that - but was endlessly frustrated that Dumbledore had ‘ _decided_ ’ that this was best and that he wasn’t being given his godson. He wanted to live with, care for, and be with Harry.

            And August had to work, so he needed someone to watch Harry when he went to the cafe, the same one he’d worked at years ago.

            They’d thought that maybe Sirius could come over and watch the baby during the day, when August worked. There were two things stopping Sirius from moving in: he didn’t speak French (and this would mean him living in France, where he’d most certainly need to have _some_ idea of what was being said) and nobody had proposed the idea yet.

            But then Wendy did, one day, while she was visiting her godson (she was fine with either men raising him, as she was even more clueless than both of them together when it came to children).

            By Christmas Eve, they’d been living together for three days. Sirius had looked at the remaining issue - the language barrier - and didn’t care at all that he had to learn a whole new language. He’d do anything to be close to Harry - learning a new language would be _easy_.

            Wendy’s cocoa had still not cooled enough to not burn her tongue, she learned, and her tongue burned as she stepped from the kitchen into the living room. August and Remus sat on the couch, smiling, and Sirius on the ground, pointing at the various presents under the tree (fat and short, as the ceiling was low), his other arm around Harry, holding the boy close to him and asking him something. As she neared, taking the spare spot on the couch, she could hear.

            “Those are mostly for you, Prongslet,” he said, a true statement, prompting Harry to say something Wendy couldn’t hear. He chuckled, “no, not yet - you have to wait for tomorrow.”

            “Well,” said August, acting as if Harry was twisting his arm, “I _suppose_ that _an_ exception can be made with _one_ present.”

            “Ooh, you hear that?” Sirius grinned at Harry, “you can open a present now! Which one do you want to do? Go on, choose!”

            Harry didn’t need to be told twice - he ran the short distance to the tree, throwing his hands onto a present, a long and thinner box. It was too big for him to hold, but he still grabbed at it in attempts to pick it up.

            Sirius saved him, crawling closer and moving the box away from the tree. He was grinning, face lit up as Harry started to pull off the paper, suggesting that this gift was from him. Free from the sad thoughts that plagued him when his mind was idle, he didn’t think about the stag on his back and he didn’t think about the leaves on his side - the magic tattoo that was supposed to change with the seasons - sage, that he hadn’t had the chance to look at for a while until soon after he was placed in Azkaban. On his birthday, three days after Halloween, he looked at the tattoo on his side and expected to see the plant in its late-Autumn state, ready to go dormant. But instead of seeing the still-green, skinny leaves, what he saw was the sage, no longer green but turned grey, leaves fallen off and withered, the plant dead.

            And then he looked at the cheese on his arm - the tattoo he’d gotten for Peter - and wished that it had changed, too - gone moldy, _something_. But it was the same, so Sirius decided that he was going to cover it up the first chance he got.

            They all watched Harry unwrap his present until it was revealed, making them all let out “ayyy”s directed at Sirius, praise for his excellent gift-giving skills.

            He looked just like a tiny James when he was riding his new toy broomstick around the cottage, running into everything and having the time of his life. The adults followed him in attempts to minimize damage, laughing as it all turned into a chase. Snow fell outside, visible through the window that acted as a portal into the living room. The lights inside were yellow and the air was happy - both things obvious from the outside observer.

            Things would be hard, but in the end, all would be well.


End file.
